Can't Buy Me Love
by jamesgatz1925
Summary: Sherlock needs a thousand pounds. John just so happens to have that exactly. (high school AU based on the 1987 movie Can't Buy Me Love).
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: New story! This story is based on the 1987 movie **_**Can't Buy Me Love. _It's one of my favorites, so I had to borrow it. The characters I use in the story have nothing to do with the actual plot (for example, Irene, Sally, and Sebastian Wilkes are Sherlock's friends but they're not mean or evil or trying to kill him). I just needed people to fill characters from the movie. Hope you enjoy. I'm still writing it so I don't know how long it'll end up!_**

* * *

**Rating: K+ (For now. It might change.)**

**Warnings: None.**

**Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, John Watson/Irene Adler, John Watson/Sally Donovan, John Watson/Mary Morstan**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes, Irene Adler, Sally Donovan, Anderson, Sebastian Wilkes, Sarah Sawyer, Molly Hooper, Mike Stamford, Mary Morstan, John's parents, Sherlock's mother, Harry Watson**

**Additional Tags: Humor, Romance, Friendship, Relationships, Teenagers, High school AU, Sherlock does ballet, John is a total dork**

* * *

The roar of the engine is deafening through a silent neighborhood. It's the middle of the week, Wednesday, and this is the last time John will be in this yard, probably until next summer.

But _ah, _there it is. The familiar sound of the familiar white Mustang Convertible is heard over the loud lawnmower right as the car comes into view.

John stops the mower and leans on the steering wheel, pushing the straw hat higher up on his head and pulling the bandana down from over his mouth.

The car goes into park and everyone hops out. The car's small, but there's only ever three or four of them in it at once, and they're all thin enough to fit.

John watches them, envious. Their tight, expensive clothes on their gorgeous bodies and none of them are dripping a bead of sweat, unlike John, who needs to lift the bottom of his shirt to wipe his forehead.

They're all beautiful and flawless with perfect skin and perfect teeth and perfectly curled hair and the girls are wearing cropped tops and _god _their bodies show off their obvious hard work in the gym and…

John licks his lips as the driver and owner of said Mustang slowly and _seductively _gets out of the car. Everything he does is seductive, and John can't help but watch the sway of his hips as he leads the girls into the house. He carries bags and bags from designer stores and John envies them even more because of that.

They dress so well because of the image they have to uphold, their reputations are to be nothing less than the best. And John longs to be them. He wants so badly to hang around with them, to just once be seen as someone who matters. But he doesn't. And he won't.

* * *

"Sherlock!"

The boy in question grins. "Mother, my darling, how are you?"

"Sherlock, I said you could shop at _one store. _What was so difficult about that?"

"Oh, Mummy!"

Irene and Sally giggle behind him. Ella, Sherlock's mother, shoots them a glare.

"School starts on _Monday!_" Sherlock cries. "Did you really expect me to go start the year in last term's clothes?"

"Would it have killed you?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

Ella sighs and tries to peek into a bag.

"Ah-ah," Sherlock stops his mother. "I'll have a fashion show later."

The girls behind him squeal in delight. Fashion shows mean getting to use Mrs. Holmes' expensive makeup for makeovers.

"Don't you have dance practice soon? _Tryouts_?"

Sherlock picks up his bags again and gestures for the girls to follow him. "I moved it until five instead of two."

"You moved it? Sherlock, how irresponsible! I swear, I—"

"Mother, if I can't have the authority to move practices then what's the point of being captain?"

Ella sighs again. "Sherlock, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiles, kisses his mother on the cheek and starts up the stairs to his bedroom.

"Your brother is joining us for dinner!" Ella calls after him.

"Goody!" Sherlock sarcastically yells back, then his door slams shut.

* * *

The purple telephone in Sherlock's bedroom starts to ring as soon as the bags are out of his hands.

"Irene, be a dear."

Irene gladly answers the phone, then squeals and hangs up a second later.

"Turn on the telly! Channel 2! They're talking to Vic!"

Sherlock gasps and plants himself in front of the tiny television on his desk. He turns it on and flips through the channels until the familiar face he loves so much is projected on the screen.

"He looks fit!" Sally cries.

"Doesn't he always?!" Irene retorts.

Sherlock just watches transfixed, staring at his boyfriend's familiar frame and face. Vic's blonde hair is sticking to his head, clearly he just finished football practice. His uniform is dirty and sweat is seeping through the fabric, but he doesn't look any less pristine than he usually is.

_"Tell me, Victor,_" the news interviewer says, _"What's different from being here on the England U-19 team as opposed to playing at home?"_

_"Well,_" Victor smiles at the interviewer and the girls squeal again.

"Those dimples!" Irene cries. "Sherlock, I don't know how you stand it!"

Sherlock just laughs.

"_There is one thing that I had at home that I don't have here, one thing I miss every day after practice._"

"_And what's that, Vic?"_

The girls squeeze Sherlock between them.

"Sherlock's name on telly!" Sallly says.

"_The old steam room in the locker room. That always made me feel **great**_ _after practice!"_

The girls awkwardly back off, but Sherlock tries not to show too much disappointment. Of course Victor's busy, and it was television so he probably doesn't want to brag about his dumb boyfriend back at home on a program seen by millions of people. Still, Sherlock's disappointment makes him want to take off Victor's club team t-shirt he's got on.

"Come on," Sherlock says. "'Rene, go get my mum's makeup. I'll fix you two up before practice."

Irene practically runs out of the room.

* * *

John's bike ride to school isn't far, and it's actually a nice ride. Since he's already sweaty from mowing lawns almost all day, he doesn't really care that he doesn't smell the best. Since he chose to wear a tank top anyway, he doesn't have sweat stains and that's all that matters.

So he rides to school, where he's set to meet Mike at five. They have to start now, before school even begins, to work on the yearbook. It's a year long process and this year it's all up to them.

John rides up to the school, the side nearest the fields, and kicks himself. He knew there was a chance the dance team would be outside today, and he should have known to _not _come this way.

The jocks are the worst.

The track team is doing their beginning of the year team time trials.

The football team is doing conditioning workouts like stretching and running.

And the dance team is…doing what they do.

John stops his bike to the left of the bleachers where he can see the dancers without being noticed. Not that he would be anyway. He's never noticed, the popular kids out on that field don't know who he is.

He looks around the girls following the captain. All of them are good, but not the best. They do leaps and pirouettes and jumps but they're just a second behind the boy in the front.

John's eyes fall on Sherlock and he watches, unable to look away even if he really wanted to.

His shorts are as short as the girls' behind him, his shirt is nearly as long as his shorts, but the sleeves are cut off to reveal his well muscled arms. John can see enough of his pearly white skin to imagine what the rest looks like, and the only part of him that's covered fully are his feet, where he wears a worn pair of purple Converse.

John watches those feet. They form a perfect point, from all the ballet training Sherlock had as a kid. John remembers back in primary school when Sherlock announced he was starting to do pointe ballet, and he explained in the middle of art class what that meant. At the time, John thought that was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard, he wondered why anyone would want to do that to their feet, but now, eight years later, watching Sherlock's thighs strain from the work, it's the goddamn hottest thing he's ever seen.

"Watson!" he hears shouted from behind.

John's so startled that he nearly falls off his bike. He turns around and sees Mike coming towards him on foot.

"'Lo, Mike."

"Stalking the dance team again?"

John chuckles and looks back at the team. "No, I was—"

Mike laughs. "You don't have to hide it from me."

John watches Sherlock again. He doesn't do it discreetly.

Mike slaps John's arm with the back of his hand. "Come on, loverboy."

John sighs and follows.

They go to the library to gather all the old yearbooks they can carry, then make their way through the empty school to the yearbook room.

John can't stop thinking about all the dancers out on the field. Not only because they looked really good while doing it, but because he wishes he could be in their league. He wishes he could be cool like them, instead of a dork who mows all of their lawns during the summer.

"Do you ever wish we were popular?" he asks suddenly.

Mike immediately shakes his head. "No, why would I?"

"I don't know," John answers. "Just because it'd be fun."

"Fun?" Mike questions. "The attention, having to sit in that part of the cafeteria, the parties, the social calls? That'd be _fun_?"

"Uhm…" John's eyebrows lift. "Yeah!"

Mike shakes his head. "Stick to what you know, John."

John just sighs.

"Don't forget the Saturday night card game, right?"

John nods. "Right."

* * *

Sherlock makes the dancers go through the routine he choreographed four times before he lets them stop. He plops himself down on the bleachers and bends to remove his smelly shoes. Irene and Sally sit at either side of him.

The boys from the football team run over as they all take their dance shoes off to change into something more comfortable.

"Hello, ladies," the first boy says, clearly mocking because Sherlock isn't a girl.

"Anderson," Sherlock growls.

Anderson laughs. "Why do you hate me so much, Sherlock? Huh? What'd I ever do to you?"

"Nothing you do to me," Sherlock answers. "But if you continue to hurt my friend by seeing other girls behind her back, my hatred for you will grow."

Sally frowns deeply and Anderson's jaw drops.

"How—"

Sherlock can tell by the very, very faint but visible lip-shaped bruise on Anderson's neck, and he's sure Sally didn't do that.

"Nevermind," Sherlock says as the other boys join them.

"Sherlock…" the next boy, Greg, says with a grin. "A ray of sunshine on such a gloomy day."

Sherlock pointedly looks up at the practically clear sky. It isn't clear, but it's not _gloomy. _"And they say romance is dead."

Greg laughs.

"Oh Greg," Sherlock sighs, suddenly sounding needy. "Be a dear and fill my water bottle, would you?"

"Certainly," Greg says with a big smile. "Just a sec."

He pulls his shirt off over his head and dabs his face with it, and while he can't see, Sherlock rolls his eyes and makes a choking face at Irene. It's not that he doesn't like Greg, not like Anderson, but he doesn't like Greg _like that. _Still, with Victor away and clearly not thinking about him, he doesn't care about stringing Greg along a bit.

Greg tosses his shirt over his shoulder, then takes Sherlock's bottle and trots away.

The third boy, Sebastian, watches in awe as Greg gets to the water fountain.

"Man, how do you do that?"

"Do what?" Sherlock asks, taking his socks off.

"Get people to do whatever you want?"

"I can't get _people_ to do whatever I want. I can get _boys _to do what I want."

"I wish I could get girls to do what I want."

"Girls have brains."

Sebastian looks at him, offended. "You're a guy! Do you not have brains?"

"I know how to use my brain," Sherlock says.

Greg makes it back to them before Sebastian can retort.

"Here you go!" he excitedly announces, handing the bottle back to Sherlock.

Sherlock smiles widely. "Thanks."

Greg blushes.

Sherlock doesn't even take a drink from the bottle, he just sets it aside and folds the socks he just took off. He looks at Irene, who is watching Sally and Anderson argue feet away from them.

He elbows her to get her attention. "Tell them about the party," he whispers.

"Oh!" Irene whispers back. "Hey boys, party at mine on Saturday."

"Alright!" the boys cry, then high-five.

* * *

John rushes home from the school before it starts to rain. He gets his bike into the shed and has it locked by the time the first drops start to fall. He looks up at the sky and feels the water start to wash his body clean.

"Aye, Johnny!" he hears, so he cranes his neck to the side to find the source.

"Harry!" he yells back. "Mum said to stay outta the tree house, what are you doing up there?!"

John's younger sister just shrugs and hops down, all the way from the top of the ladder. John's stomach drops as he watches her, fearing that she'll break _another_ bone, but the little girl tumbles safely down and hops right back up immediately. John shakes his head and starts inside.

* * *

Sherlock's brother is terrible. He just _has _to come home once a week to be a pest and take Mummy away from Sherlock. He needs Mummy to help him pick out a first day of school outfit, not shower Mycroft with the attention he doesn't need.

The only redeeming quality that his brother has is that he dresses well. Sherlock hates that, too.

"Myc?" Sherlock calls through the house. Mycroft's room is only next door, Mycroft would hear him if he'd just stick his head out of his bedroom door, but screaming always proves to be more affective.

Sure enough, Mycroft is there in a second.

"What?"

"Can I borrow your white suede vest on Friday night?" He asks in his sweetest voice.

"Ha!" Mycroft cries. "Fat chance. What for?"

The act drops. Mycroft, on top of being terrible, is the only man in the entire world that Sherlock can't manipulate.

"Irene's party. It's simply fabulous and I have to have it."

"No way. You'll ruin it. That alone cost a thousand pounds."

Sherlock whines and turns back to his clothes. "I have nothing to wear!"

"I'm looking at your entire closet that begs to differ."

"Nothing good, Mycroft."

"What about all the clothes you just bought today?"

"And let everyone see an outfit before I wear it to school?"

"The horror!" Mycroft mocks, wandering back into Sherlock's bedroom.

The bags are still on Sherlock's bed, so Mycroft starts to peer into them.

"Why can't I wear that vest?" Sherlock asks, following Mycroft. "You never wear it! It sits here in your closet, sad and never worn."

"My clothes aren't sad."

"They are sad. They want to be worn by me. This Friday." Sherlock smiles widely.

Mycroft reaches into a bag and pulls something out. "You have a brand new white vest right here."

"Suede, Mycroft. _Suede!_"

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "For the last time: no."

Sherlock frowns and sinks.

Mycroft drops the vest and reaches into a different bag. "Uhm…"

Sherlock looks up to see the black lace panties Mycroft is holding. He shrugs.

Mycroft drops them with disgust. "And how is Mr. Trevor? I caught him on channel 2 this afternoon."

Sherlock doesn't say anything.

"I'm sure that hurt."

"What?"

"Not being mentioned as something he misses from back home."

"He's busy. He doesn't have to have me on his mind at all times."

"You haven't talked to him lately, have you?"

Sherlock doesn't make eye contact. Mycroft sounds a mix between concerned and that he's pretending to be concerned, but Sherlock can't tell which it is.

"What makes you say that?"

"Black lace underpants. You want attention."

"So?"

"So he's moved on, Sherlock. You should, too."

"He'll come back for me."

Mycroft just sighs. "Alright."

Sherlock watches Mycroft go to the door.

"Do not take my vest," Mycroft warns.

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

* * *

_It's just gorgeous, _John thinks, staring at the magazine in front of his face. The telescope he's had his eye on for years is finally in reach after mowing every lawn in the community twice a week for the past three summers. The magazine shows it in simple black and white, but it isn't any less beautiful on the paper.

"Not at the table, please John?"

John sighs and folds the magazine up to set it aside.

"Have you saved up enough money yet, son?" John's dad Ron asks from the head of the table.

"Yes sir. Every lawn in the community for three straight summers has finally paid off."

Harry wanders in from outside and pats John's shoulder. "Hey, maybe with that you can afford to not be a dork anymore." She laughs loudly and plops down next to John.

"Young lady, go wash your hands," John's mother Jane demands. Harry rolls her eyes and gets up from the table again.

"You'll buy it this weekend?" Ron asks, referring to the telescope.

"Yes, sir. Sunday, hopefully."

"Wonderful, son. I couldn't be more proud."

John smiles with pride, just as Harry returns to the room.

"So, John?" Jane starts as she sits at the table, finished with serving everybody. "Any back to school parties?"

"Nope," John says. "Just cards with the gang on Saturday night."

"Ahh, the old tradition," Ron says.

"Yeah, the perfect Saturday night," Harry says, her mouth full. "Cards, chips, dips, and dorks!"

"Harry!" John's mother cries.

John doesn't say anything.

"I, however," Harry adds, "Have an abundance of invitations flooding in. So, Dad, spot me some cash?"

Ron laughs and reaches to take out his wallet. "Nothing for you, John? You sure?"

John shakes his head, denying the money.

"Well, alright!"


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Sherlock's a bit of a diva, isn't he? I like him. **_

* * *

Sherlock loves parties, but even more than the party itself, he loves getting ready for parties. He takes two hour baths in his mother's giant bathtub, he spends an hour drying his hair, moisturizing, doing general things like flossing and maybe plucking his eyebrows, and eventually he spends almost another entire hour picking out an outfit.

Today he wants to wear the suede vest. He's got the rest of the outfit picked out: white skinny jeans that will be rolled up above his ankle, a burgundy short sleeve shirt that has three buttons on the top, his brand new white Converse, and all he needs is that damn vest.

He pulls his dressing gown and sweeps out of his bedroom, wearing only black underpants under the dressing gown.

Sherlock sneaks into Mycroft's bedroom, unseen, and goes right to the closet. He takes the suede vest down, stroking the lapels over and over while biting his lip.

The doorbell rings, making him jump.

"Mum!" he shouts.

She probably can't hear him. She's probably still fixing her makeup.

"Mother!" he tries again.

Still no answer. He sighs and hangs the vest up again, then goes to the front door.

He doesn't bother tying the front of his dressing gown. If it's for him, they've probably seen him in less, and if it's not, well, he still doesn't care.

He throws the door open and groans disgusted when he sees the small, gross, hairy man waiting on the other side.

The man grins and clearly checks Sherlock out. He gazes down the lanky body and Sherlock pulls his dressing gown tight around him.

"My, my, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Mitch!" Ella cries coming down the stairs. She stops behind Sherlock and rubs his shoulder. "I see you've met my baby boy!"

"You're baby boy?" Mitch purrs. "I thought this was your baby brother."

Ella laughs and Sherlock gags.

"Oh, Mitch!"

Mitch grins again and offers a hand to Ella, who takes it and lets him take her out of the house.

"I'll take care of mummy for you, love," Mitch says.

Sherlock glares at him.

"I'll be back late, Sherlock," Ella calls to him. "Have fun! Stay out of Mycroft's closet!"

Sherlock forces a smile at her, glares once more at Mitch, then shuts the door and returns to Mycroft's closet.

* * *

Mike deals the cards around the table and John looks around at his friends. Mike to his left, Sarah to his right, and Molly straight across from him. He stares at Molly, remembering how jealous he was in during a school play they did when they were kids where Sherlock had to kiss Molly on the cheek. He wanted that part so bad, but it had to go to a girl (because of the kiss). He remembers that Sherlock was actually their friend, along with Greg and Sally and everyone else.

"Do you guys ever wish we were popular?"

Mike groans. "Oh, not this again."

"What do you mean?" Sarah asks.

John sits up straight. "You know, popular? Getting invited to parties, having something…else…to do on Saturday night?"

"What's wrong with our card game?" Molly asks.

"Nothin', I just…" John sighs and picks up his cards. "It's our last year. We're supposed to be making memories that'll last us a lifetime."

"And you're not going to remember us for a lifetime?" Sarah asks now.

John chuckles. "No, no of course. I just…I don't know. Sometimes I wish things were different."

They all silently nod, but John can tell they aren't committed to the idea. He knows none of them feel the same way, but that doesn't stop him from longing for it all to change.

* * *

Sherlock arrives fashionably late to the party. Everyone's already there, dancing and laughing and having fun. He doesn't take a drink that Sebastian offers, but he does take a drag of Irene's offered cigarette.

Everyone says hello to him as he makes it through the house. The girls all stare at him and bat their eyelashes, but of course he has eyes for none. The boy's he'd find attractive if he didn't have Victor try not to make eye contact with him, but Sherlock knows if he tried hard enough, he could get any of them on their knees in a second.

He and Irene stop where Sally is talking to one of the new girls who made the dance team with them.

"Hey, Sherlock!" Sally cries as he approaches. "Great outfit, totally sexy!"

He smiles. "Thanks. It's new."

"New?" Irene questions. "From where? We just went shopping yesterday."

"Uh…" Sherlock doesn't want to tell them it's Mycroft's, so he lies. "Victor sent it to me. He said he thought I'd look great it in."

"Where was it, then?" Irene asks now. "I was just in your closet yesterday, I didn't see it."

"I, uh…had it somewhere else," is all he says. He turns to the new girl who was talking to Sally. "Mary, right? Let's mingle."

Sherlock takes her arm and pulls her away from the other girls, pushing through the crowd and hoping to find someone who will get him a drink.

"Your vest is so gorgeous," Mary says. "My mother won't let me anywhere near suede, she says I'd ruin it! It's too hard to clean!"

"Yeah?" is all Sherlock says.

He spots Greg approaching them, and he smiles. "Mary, have you met Greg?"

Greg makes it to them and Sherlock sees he's holding a glass of red wine. Sherlock begins to wonder why on earth he's drinking red wine (probably wanting to seem sophisticated, trying to impress Sherlock) when suddenly the liquid is flying at him and he feels it splash against his chest. Mary gasps.

Sherlock's jaw drops and he slowly looks down.

"Gee, babe, I'm sorry," Greg says. "It was an accident, honestly!"

Sherlock whines and turns around to rush to the bathroom, hoping to save the vest. Mycroft will kill him if it's ruined!

"Just rub some salt on it!" Greg calls after him.

Sherlock tears the vest off and drapes it over the sink, then wets a hand towel and tries to dab the stain off. It doesn't work, of course, and Sherlock begins to cry.

His life is over.


	3. Chapter 3

John takes all of his hard earned cash to the mall the next morning to buy his prized telescope. He's waited years for this, and he knows his dad was right. With a little bit of hard work, everything pays off.

"The price was cut just this morning, John," the salesman says. He knows John well, since John has been coming in every weekend for years to look at the telescope. "Perfect timing."

"Yeah, I'm sure," John absentmindedly states, looking through the lens of the telescope.

"I can throw this lens in for the same price," the salesman says. "See how gorgeous the clarity is?"

John focuses it and gasps when he sees the beautiful specimen that is Sherlock Holmes on the other side. "Yeah, I see it. Gorgeous."

The man keeps talking, but John isn't listening. He watches Sherlock rush into a clothing store across the way and immediately go to the counter, throwing a white garment onto the table and starting to theatrically tell a story.

John sees him point to the same vest on a manikin behind that salesman and the salesman shake his head.

* * *

"Please sir, please!" Sherlock cries. "I'll do anything, absolutely anything! All I need is that vest!"

"Son, it's not my problem that this vest has been marinated in…" he lifts it and sniffs, making a face. "Very, very cheap red wine. I can't just _give _you a replacement!"

"Then I'll come here every afternoon and weekend to work! I just need that vest as an advance and I'll do anything!"

"A thousand pounds or no deal, boy. That is final!"

* * *

John excuses himself from the telescope salesman and runs over to the store Sherlock is in. It's clear that Sherlock wants to buy that vest and doesn't have the money, and John has the money. And he has a brilliant idea.

* * *

"You're insane!" Sherlock yells at him. "You can't _rent _me!"

"I have a thousand pounds that says offering was worth a try," John argues.

Sherlock shakes his head. John wants to _rent _him. "Pretending to date me isn't even going to make you popular! Nobody would believe it!"

"Again, I have a thousand pounds that says _it's worth a try_."

Sherlock shakes his head again. "You're out of your mind!"

John stands up straight and folds the money up. He puts it in his shirt breast pocket. "Alright, sir, we will not be purchasing the vest today." He starts towards the door.

The salesman just stands back and looks like he really doesn't care.

Sherlock, for as insane as the idea is, is torn. Hanging around with John for a few weeks wouldn't be _so_ bad, and Mycroft wouldn't absolutely murder him. He would never find out that Sherlock took his vest, let alone ruined it. A thousand pounds and all he has to do is let John sit with him at lunch?

"Wait…" Sherlock says.

John stops as he's pushing the door open.

"Fine," Sherlock says. "You've got a deal."

John smiles widely, then goes back to the counter.

* * *

John checks his watch for the third time in one minute. His anxiety is growing more and more each time the doors open, and he's sure he's never been this nervous in his life.

He looks down at his clothes again, sure that his pressed khaki pants and green button-up shirt are suitable attire for the first day of school.

The door opens again and he looks up on time for Sherlock to enter.

"You made it!" John cries.

Sherlock immediately turns around and walks back out of the building. John follows.

"I said 8:05 and it's 8:05, is it not?"

"I wasn't positive you were going to show."

Sherlock leads John down the front steps and around a small corner, where they're hidden by a half wall and a large tree.

He makes a face as he gets the first good look at John. "What in god's name are you wearing?"

John looks down at himself again. "What? I thought—"

"No, no." Sherlock rustles around in his bag. He pulls out a can of mousse, then sprays some on John's hand. "Here, rub this in your hair."

John does as he's told, making his hair stick up in random directions.

"Lose the glasses," Sherlock demands, so John takes his glasses off and delicately places them in his front pocket.

"I...I only wear them to read," John says.

"Well, don't," is all Sherlock says. "And…hmm…" he bites his lip, then instructs John to turn around.

Sherlock yanks the shirt tails out of John's pants.

"Hey, wow," John mutters.

Then without any warning, Sherlock rips the sleeves of John's shirt clean off.

John makes a pained sound.

"It's fine," Sherlock says.

"It's _my _shirt."

Sherlock ignores him. "Turn around."

John faces him again. "Alright, better?"

Sherlock messes with John's hair some more, probably making it more tame. "Okay. This is suitable."

John cracks a smile.

"You need to relax," Sherlock instructs him.

"Sorry, I'm just nervous. This isn't a regular opening day for me, I've never walked down the cool hallway on the first day of school."

"Well, the first thing you need to remember is that they're regular people, just like me."

"You're not a regular person," John says.

He catches Sherlock blush a tiny bit.

"Anyway," Sherlock says. "Lunch tomorrow, then we'll see—"

"No, that wasn't part of the deal. Lunch today, tomorrow, and Wednesday."

"No, lunch tomorrow and Wednesday and that's it."

"Lunch today, tomorrow, and the football match on Friday night."

Sherlock groans. "Fine, lunch today, tomorrow, and Wednesday, no match on Friday night."

"Deal."

Sherlock takes a deep breath. "Okay. Ready?"

John nods.

Sherlock takes his arm and pulls him out of their hiding spot, then up the front steps and into the building.

* * *

_**A/N: If you've never seen the movie **_**Can't Buy Me Love, _go watch it right now! it's on Netflix! _**

**_PS, Sherlock is NOT a prostitute! I promise! _**


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Hey readers, if you like this I'd certainly appreciate reviews! Thanks for reading!**_

* * *

John walks the hall behind Sherlock, just a step but still behind. He nervously twiddles his fingers and adjusts the bag on his back about fifteen times before they even see anyone.

"Be cool," Sherlock mutters before they stop in front of Sally and Irene.

The girls both stare at John as if he's a martian.

"You both know John," Sherlock says, his voice deep and John can tell it's a tone that says, '_Please, please don't ask._'

Irene looks him up and down three times. "Uh…hey."

Sally crosses her arms. "Don't you mow my lawn?"

John leans on the wall next to them. "Yeah, and you've got the nicest set of rhododendrons on the block."

"Rhodo-what?!"

Sherlock rolls his eyes, and it bothers John that he doesn't know if Sherlock is rolling his eyes at the girls or at him.

"Come on, John," he says, stepping away from the girls. "Walk me to class."

John eagerly follows.

As they're stepping away, he hears Sally ask Irene what John said to her, and after saying she doesn't care, Irene says she likes his shirt. It makes John smile.

* * *

John's first period class is anatomy on the first floor and he's almost late because he walked Sherlock all the way to the third floor for his first period music lesson.

"I didn't know you play the violin," John said as he left Sherlock off outside of the classroom.

"You probably don't know a lot about me," Sherlock said before he disappeared into the room.

Mike is in John's first class, and John sits behind him.

"Aye, John," Mike whispers into class. "Missed you this morning, where'd you disappear to?"

"Oh, I, uh…" John licks his lips. "I walked, uh…Sherlock…to class."

Mike turns around fully to stare at John. "You, what?!"

John can't help but grin. "Yeah, I…Sherlock wanted me to walk him to class, so I did."

"Sherlock _knew _you were following him?"

"I wasn't following him," John argues. "I _walked him there. _Right next to him. We talked. He knew I was there."

"Uh huh," Mike mutters.

"Yeah, I'm…I'm going to be hanging around with him more now. Since we're…we're…"

"You're what?"

"We're going out."

Mike doesn't say anything, and John opens his mouth to add (the lie) that Sherlock likes him quite a bit, but their teacher stops him.

"Mr. Watson! If you're feeling particularly chatty today, why don't you tell me what all the bones in the upper half of the body are?"

John sighs and stands up. "Radius, meta—"

"Alphabetical, please."

All the student laugh and John blushes harshly. He can do that, easily, but being on the spot makes him nervous.

He clears his throat and begins.

* * *

Sherlock's second period class is home ec., which is awful. The only thing that will be good about the class is that all of his friends are in it, too. When he walks in, Sally and Anderson are fighting in the back of the room, Irene is rolling her eyes at everything Sebastian is saying, and Greg is grinning and patting the seat next to him.

Sherlock goes to Greg, simply because he doesn't care for Sally and Anderson's fighting, and he really doesn't care for Sebastian.

Greg hands Sherlock an apron. "Wouldn't want you to ruin your pretty outfit."

Sherlock takes it. "Thanks," he mutters, slipping it on over his simple gray t-shirt that cost about as much as his shoes.

The teacher announces that today they'll be working on egg cracking techniques, which sounds simple enough, but most kids in the class can't do it to save their life.

Halfway through the class, once everyone's mastered the task, he instructs the class to try separating the egg whites from the yolks. Sherlock does it without a problem, and he notices Greg next to him completing the task with surprising ease. He cracks the egg in his hand, lets the whites slip through the slits in his fingers, and the yolk stays there in his hand.

Greg nudges Sherlock and Sherlock looks at him. He leans over, his hand on the back of Sherlock's chair and he's so close that Sherlock could probably count his eyelashes.

"What?" Sherlock asks, thinking Greg is about to kiss him by the look on the boy's face.

Then Greg grins, and in one motion he tosses the yolk in his mouth and swallows it with ease.

Sherlock makes a gagging noise. "Disgusting!"

Greg laughs loudly and everyone who saw it laughs, too.

"You are utterly disgusting, Gregory."

Greg smiles widely and kisses Sherlock's nose.

* * *

Sherlock meets John inside the cafeteria during lunch. John's holding a sack, his lunch, and Sherlock immediately tears it out of his hands and tosses it in the nearest trash bin.

"Hey, that was my—"

Sherlock takes a few bills out of his pocket and hands them to John. "You're not eating that if you're sitting with us."

"Uh…okay…" John takes the money and gets in line for a lunch.

He notices Sherlock isn't in line behind him. "You're not getting anything?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"It's transport. Slows me down."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Hmm…it's Monday? So…Saturday."

"Satruday?! Sherlock!"

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

John finally gets his lunch and they go outside to eat, where all of the 'cool' kids sit. Sherlock nods the direction he wants John to go, and John leads him through the people to an empty table. John notices that Sherlock is hanging onto his shirt, as if not wanting to separate. It makes John smile.

They sit down and John starts to eat his food, but in seconds there's someone looming over them. John slowly looks up to see Sherlock's friend, Sebastian Wilkes.

"What are you doing over here?" Sebastian demands. "Don't you know losers are to the left?"

John glances to their left, where the more nerdy or geeky kids are sitting.

"Then I guess you'll be going right," Sherlock says. "That's where the arseholes sit."

Sebastian's face goes straight and he huffs out a breath through his nose. He violently steps back, on time for everyone else to join them. With everyone there, John is too nervous to eat.

"You all know John?" Sherlock asks as they sit.

"Yeah," Greg says. "Don't you mow my lawn?"

John blushes. "Uh…"

Sherlock interrupts before John can answer. "John's just learning the importance of business early on, right John?"

"R-right."

"Didn't we go to primary school together?" Anderson asks next.

"Yeah."

"Huh, hadn't seen you since. I thought you moved."

John looks down at his lap.

"You don't play sports, do you John?" Greg asks.

John slowly looks up and shakes his head.

"Hmm…" all the boys sigh.

Sally and Anderson, who are sitting at the other side of Sherlock, start to argue quietly between each other. Irene and Sherlock exchange a look of annoyance.

"They fight a lot?" John asks.

"Yes," all the others answer.

The bell rings without John eating his lunch, leaving him starving through the entire afternoon. Luckily, Sherlock takes him to eat after school. The restaurant is a usual hangout for students and young kids, and they sell food like pizza and milkshakes. John orders a personal pizza that'd be large enough for him and Sherlock, and he plans to make Sherlock eat.

John anxiously awaits their pizza, fidgeting in his seat.

"You wouldn't be so hungry had you just eaten lunch."

"I just get nervous around those guys."

"But not around me? Interesting."

"Well, you, you're—"

The waiter delivers their pizza and John excitedly digs in. It's too hot still for him to grab a slice, but right as he's about to sacrifice his mouth to be burned anyway, Greg, Sebastian, and Anderson walk in.

"Hey guys!" the boys all say, patting John's back as they pass to their own table.

John drops the pizza.

Sherlock laughs. "John, don't be absurd. Eat."

John shakes his head.

"You know what? Go invite them over. You'll see that they're regular guys."

John nods and takes a deep breath. "Okay. I'll be right back."

John wanders over to the boys and pats Greg's shoulder. "Hey guys, pizza's on me."

"Hey, alright!" Anderson cries, then the boys go over to John and Sherlock's table.

They take every slice. John watches as the boys absolutely devour his pizza, leaving a measly pepperoni behind.

He frowns deeply as the boys leave again, and Sherlock pats his shoulder.

"I apologize. I suppose I should have foreseen that result."

"You owe me," John says.

Sherlock laughs. "Of course. Another time. I've got to get you home before my dance practice."


	5. Chapter 5

There's a party on Saturday, and when John is invited by Irene, Sherlock announces that of course he'd be going. Each time Sherlock wants to deny the invitations for John, the stack of bills John handed him at the mall last week flashes through his head. He owes John this, and if it's a stupid party, then who cares?

Sherlock hears the doorbell ring and he knows it's John. He's still getting ready, he doesn't even feel remotely prepared for a party, so he shouts to his mother to answer the door instead.

* * *

Mrs. Holmes answers and immediately grows a surprised look on her face.

"Oh, John!" she cries. "Did I…did I forget to pay you last week?"

"Uh, no ma'am. I'm here for—"

Sherlock comes down the stairs like a tornado. A six-foot, perfectly shaped, most-likely-Armani suit wearing tornado. John can immediately tell something is wrong with him.

"It's for me, Mum."

"For…" is all Mrs. Holmes gets out before Sherlock grabs the doorknob and shuts it on her face.

* * *

Sherlock stops five steps away from the door. "John!"

John frowns. "What?"

"_What _are you supposed to be taking me to this party in? You know, usually when I'm taken on a date, I'm transported in something with a motor!"

"Oh, I…I'm sorry, I—"

Sherlock sighs dramatically. "It's _fine. _We'll take my car."

John silently climbs into the passenger seat.

"And _what _are you wearing? God, John, honestly! It's like I have to teach you how to be a human being!"

John straightens his tie. "What's wrong with my suit?"

"It's outdated, too big, and your socks are white!"

Sherlock throws the car into reverse and starts down the driveway.

"Sorry," John mutters. "Not all of us can afford Armani suits."

Sherlock practically growls. "It's Burberry."

"Oh my god," John says, pulling his seatbelt on.

Sherlock is about to apologize, sensing that John is thoroughly annoyed, but John speaks first.

"Vic hasn't called?"

Sherlock huffs. He doesn't like being read. He doesn't like that he can be read. By John Watson, of all people. Nonetheless, John is right. And John sounds concerned. None of his other friends ever seem to care. If he mentions that Victor hasn't called, the girls don't hide their pleased smiles very well.

"No," Sherlock says instead of snapping at John to mind his own business. "No, he hasn't."

"I'm sorry. It must be hard. And having to hang out with _me_…I'm sure that doesn't help."

They're only a block away from Sherlock's house, but Sherlock pulls off the road and parks by the curb outside of a stranger's house.

"I apologize, John. I shouldn't be so short with you."

"No, I'm sorry." John glances around the car. "I'm the one who forgot my father's car."

Sherlock laughs. "Well, here, you drive. Say yours is…at the shop, or something."

John smiles widely. "You mean it? I can drive this?"

"Yeah, I don't care."

Sherlock gets out of the car and John excitedly climbs over to the driver's seat. He practically vibrates with eagerness. Sherlock, in his own head, admits that it's a little bit adorable.

"What is a man's fascination with cars?" Sherlock asks as he buckles his seatbelt.

"You're a man, you tell me."

"I didn't pick this car out. My brother bought it for me last year."

"Your…" John shakes his head. "Your brother just bought it for you?"

"Well, it was a bribe."

"A bribe for what, if you don't mind me asking?"

"A bribe to stop dating Victor. My brother thinks he's no good for me."

"Mmm," John sighs. "I can't argue there."

Sherlock looks at him. "What makes you say that?"

John shrugs. "I've never liked the guy. Though, watching you drape yourself all over him at school didn't help. I was glad when he left."

Sherlock chuckles. "You mean you were…jealous?"

John grins. "Yeah, I guess I was."

"You didn't even know me."

John just shrugs.

* * *

"Well, this is a bust."

"He's coming."

"Two hours late? Come on, we could've played dozens of hands by now."

"We're waiting for John."

Molly and Sarah roll their eyes in unison. Mike absolutely hates when they do that.

"I hate when you two do that."

"Then let us play!" they both shout. In unison.

Mike sighs. "Fine, you win." He starts to deal the hand, annoyed at both of the girls and at John for not showing up. He's ditched Mike a lot lately; he hasn't sat with Mike or the girls at all during lunch, he's skipped out on yearbook club, and now the Saturday night poker party. It's like he doesn't even exist to John anymore.

"He could've at least dropped off the crisps before ditching us," Molly says.

"Agreed," Sarah adds, lifting her glass of root beer. "A cold one isn't the same without snacks."

Mike laughs, letting John disappear from his mind.

* * *

Sherlock holds John's hand as they walk to the front door together, but John is unsure of whether or not Sherlock knows he's doing it. He's seen Sherlock with others, even with his closest friends he doesn't really touch anyone (except Victor, who he hung all over any time they were near each other). John can't decide if he should feel special or not, or if Sherlock's just being "intimate" to pay off his debt.

"Ready?" Sherlock asks.

John nods.

Sherlock enters the house without knocking, which is fine because it's Sally's house anyway.

John is suddenly very overwhelmed. He's never been to a party, not one like this. Sure, his parents throw their annual New Year's Eve party, but that's full of the adults from all over the neighborhood. Never has he seen one like this.

Sherlock leads him through the house to what John recognizes as the dining room. The house is huge, and he's afraid if they separate he'll get lost, but Sherlock doesn't make any move to let John go.

Until they finally reach people. And all Sherlock does is lead John's hand to his hip, so John's arm is wrapped around his waist. John's heart races, he really can't believe this is all happening.

"'Lo, 'Lock," Irene says, her eyes glazed and her speech already a bit slurred. She kisses Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock gives her a smile, but John recognizes it as Sherlock's fake 'I'm-annoyed-with-you' smile. John gets it a lot.

The rest of their group makes it over, each of them greeting John with warm welcomes. The guys shake his hand and the girls each hug him, then they ask John if they can steal Sherlock away for a moment.

Sherlock turns to face him. "I'll be back," he says, giving John what he hopes to be a genuine smile.

"'Kay," John whispers, smiling back.

The girls pull Sherlock away and the guys all surround him.

"So…you brought Sherlock?" Greg asks.

"I, uh…yeah," John says. "I…well, we came from his house together, so…yes. Yeah."

Anderson glances at Greg and starts to chuckle into his glass.

"I need a drink," Greg says, then darts away from the guys.

John watches, confused. Greg is clearly upset about something.

"Don't mind him—" Anderson says.

Sebastian interrupts. "He's only been in love with Sherlock for years, having no chance whatsoever because of Vic, and then you swoop in from the geek section and take him from Greg, but yeah. Don't mind him."

John continues watching Greg from far away. "I didn't…" he shakes his head. "Sherlock's not Greg's for me to _take. _He's not an object."

Both boys shrug.

Sebastian excuses himself to get a drink. He offers one for John, but John denies it because he's driving home. Sebastian leaves, and John and Anderson stand there in silence.

* * *

Sally's crisis was that her makeup wasn't right. She needed Sherlock to fix it.

They sit at Sally's mother's makeup table in the large bathroom and Sherlock gets to work.

"You always make your eyebrows too thick," he tells her.

"Well, fix it then!"

Sherlock rolls his eyes and does it.

"So," Irene asks from her spot on the edge of the tub. She sways a bit, but she remains balanced. "What's with you and Watson?"

Sherlock makes a face. "What do you mean?"

"Well, are you dating? Is this a game? Is it for real? What about Vic?"

Sherlock frowns. "I…we're…" he shrugs and switches makeup brushes to fix Sally's eye shadow. "I don't know. We're just—"

Sally interrupts. "I can tell you that whatever it is, you're totally lucky."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asks.

"Watson's gone from geek to chic. He's totally hot."

"She is right," Irene says.

Sherlock finishes with Sally's makeup right then and backs away from her. "There."

She stands and examines herself in the mirror. "Perfect. Thanks, love."

Sherlock stands too and does the same. He pushes his hair around to form a shape that he wants, and Irene joins them in the mirror.

"Just let me know when you're done with him," Irene slurs. "I'd like a turn."

Sherlock furrows his eyebrows. "Uhm—"

"I was going to say that!" Sally cries.

Sherlock and Irene look at her.

"What about Ander-stupid-arsehole?" Irene spits.

"Anderson can suck a cock," Sally says. She looks at Sherlock. "No offense."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrow further. "Uhm—"

"Anyway," Irene says. "I asked first, so I get him first."

Sally rolls her eyes. "Fine."

Sherlock decides he doesn't like they way they're talking about John, like he's a piece of meat, and storms out of the bathroom. The girls follow, clearly not noticing that he's leaving in a fit, and the three of them return to the dining room.

* * *

"Sherlock's really taken with you though," Anderson says after about five minutes of an awkward silence.

John looks at him. "He is?"

"Sure. He doesn't shut up about you when you're not around. Sally says he talks about you any chance he gets, even at dance practice."

John cracks a smile. "Really?"

Anderson nods. "Honestly, I haven't seen him act this way since at the start of his and Vic's relationship. But now, more recently, he hardly talks about Vic at all."

John's smile grows. "Wow."

"You really like him, don't you?"

John nods. "Yeah."

"Hmm," is all Anderson replies.

John wants to ask what the 'hmm' was for, but the girls arrive back to them before he can.

* * *

The rest of the party goes well. Sherlock is pleased that his friends take to John so well; he'd hate for the plan to go sour and be further in John's debt. But John seems happy and nobody catches on that this relationship of theirs is a game, so that's nice.

* * *

After the party, John drives them home and Sherlock slumps against the passenger door.

"Tired?" he asks.

Sherlock nods.

"How much did you have to drink?"

"Please, John. I've never touched a drop of alcohol in my life."

"Really?" John asks in surprise.

Sherlock looks at him. "You don't have to be so shocked about it."

"No, I'm sorry, I just—"

"My friends and the parties? Yeah, I know. It's not really my area, though."

"No? Well…that's…that's honorable, then."

"Honorable."

"Yeah. Most kids in your position would drink themselves into a coma. As a matter of fact, I think Irene and Greg did."

Sherlock waves a hand. "It just gets to them."

"What does?"

"The pressure. It's a lot of pressure being…us."

John looks at him. His head is leaning against the window and he looks almost young and vulnerable. It's like he doesn't have any protective layers on.

"Then why do you do it?" John asks.

Sherlock shrugs.

John opens his mouth to speak, but his throat tightens. He clears it and tries again.

"I…I hope you know…you don't have to…" John swallows the knot again. "You don't have to feel pressure with me. I don't expect anything of you. I just want you to be you."

Sherlock turns his body further toward the door, clearly wanting to avoid any sort of eye contact. It's as if he doesn't want John to be able to see him at all.

"I know that," Sherlock says.

"Good."

Sherlock doesn't say anything, but in seconds John hears a light snore.

He gets to Sherlock's house and puts the car into park, then gets out as silently as he can. He doesn't want Sherlock to wake up, because Sherlock told him yesterday that he hardly ever sleeps, so John wants to make sure he gets rest now.

John tiptoes to the other side of the car and pulls Sherlock out, then takes him in his arms and carries him to the front door. Sherlock's arms wrap around John's neck and he buries his face in the crook of John's neck to shoulder.

The door is unlocked, but nobody is awake when John enters. He's never been in the house before, and he has no idea where Sherlock's bedroom is other than upstairs.

Luckily, Sherlock's bedroom door is slightly open and the purple (Sherlock's favorite color) walls are a dead giveaway that that's it.

John delicately drops Sherlock on the bed. He carefully removes Sherlock's shoes and belt, then even more carefully slips his suit jacket off his shoulders. Sherlock doesn't wake, and John assumes now he won't, so John pauses to take a look around the room.

First, he notices there's a team poster of Vic's club hanging on the wall just above Sherlock's bed. Vic's face has a heart around it, and John actually smiles at it, thinking of how adorable that is of Sherlock to do.

Second, he notices Sherlock's got a large bookshelf with many books on it. Some of them, John doesn't recognize or can't read the name (they're in French), but he can tell that a lot of them are science related. He didn't know Sherlock liked science.

Third, he notices Sherlock's clothes hamper filled to the brim with all of his expensive clothes. No doubt Sherlock has to get all of it dry cleaned, for it's all made of much more fancy material than John's ratty old things. But, there on top of the pile, is a pair of tiny black boxer shorts. On Sherlock's legs, they probably barely go down to the very tops of Sherlock's thighs, and they probably look incredible on him. John bites his lip and wills away the desire to pick them up (because they're in the dirty clothes and he knows how gross and also extremely creepy that is). So he backs away and tries his best to forget about the tiny things.

When he's finished snooping around, he locates a pad and pen on Sherlock's desk. He jots down a quick note (Call me tomorrow. If you want. –John), sticks it somewhere Sherlock will see (right next to his head), then slips silently from the room.

He walks home, which is fine. It's not far, and he certainly doesn't mind. He replays the events of the evening (Sherlock holding his hand, Sherlock hanging onto his arm), thinks about what Anderson said, and wonders if Sherlock's not pretending after all.

But the poster with Vic on it. Sherlock talks about Vic a lot, to him. Vic is his boyfriend. If he stole Sherlock from anyone, it'd be Vic.

So he decides that Sherlock is just a very good actor at this part. He pushes down the disappointment he feels and instead focuses on the fact that this is what he wanted, to get popular. And he is getting there.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Here is where the story veers off in my own direction. In the movie, there aren't midnight phone calls, that's just something I thought Sherlock would do to John. Anyway hope you enjoy! Thank you and please review!**_

* * *

John rides his bike to school the next morning because Sherlock, who had given him a ride the few days before, had early morning dance practice. When he walks in, Mike is by the door where John usually met him before all of this.

"Hey John," he says. "Missed you at cards."

"Yeah, sorry, it's just the party, y'know?"

"Yeah," Mike mutters. "And then I tried to call you Sunday, but you never got back to me."

"Yeah, sorry again, I was at Sherlock's."

"Sherlock's?"

"Yeah, he wanted me to see his favorite movie so we—"

Mike sighs. John notices it's not a pleased sigh.

"Hey listen," John says, "Let's do something this weekend. Just you and I."

Mike slowly smiles. "Sure. You're on. How about Friday night?"

"Oh, I can't Friday night."

"Saturday?"

"I was thinking more towards Sunday afternoon."

Mike sighs again. "I'll call you for an appointment," he says before storming off.

"Mike!" John calls through the crowd of people.

Mike doesn't stop. John's about to follow him, but then two arms wrap around his shoulders.

"Aye, Watson!" Anderson and Greg shout in both of his ears.

"Where were you yesterday?" Greg asks. "We wanted to invite you to a game of football."

John remembers that Anderson and Sebastian told him about Greg's gigantic crush on Sherlock, so he decides not to tell Greg about his and Sherlock's movie date. As a matter of fact, he thought Greg would be upset with him since their talk at the party, but Greg seems fine. It's Sebastian who is being more standoffish than usual.

"I was busy," is all John says.

They walk towards the cool hallway, where he knows Sherlock will be, and sure enough Sherlock meets them at the corner.

"Hello boys," he says. "Mind if I steal Mr. Watson away?"

John blushes at the way Sherlock says his name. It's downright seductive.

Sherlock grabs John's shirt collar and pulls, and since that's happening, he doesn't notice Greg and Anderson's arms falling away.

"Meet you later, John," Anderson says as Sherlock pulls him down the hall.

"Put your arm around me," Sherlock whispers.

"Oh." John wraps an arm around Sherlock's waist. He feels guilty because he's sure Greg can still see them.

"You know that Greg has a huge crush on you?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Yes, of course. Everyone knows it."

"And you don't mind…y'know…being all over someone else while he's watching."

"First of all, I'm _not _all over you. Second, I'm not Greg Lestrade's property. And last, I'm helping you, remember?"

"Well, sure, but—"

"Don't worry about it. Anyway, those guys think you're cool. You wanted popularity, didn't you?"

John nods.

"So, put your arm around me and shut up."

John chuckles. "Okay. Fine."

Sherlock leads John to his locker. John leans against the one next to Sherlock's and absentmindedly plays with a string on Sherlock's tattered jean-vest.

"You look great today, by the way."

Sherlock smiles. "Thank you."

Sherlock finishes with his locker, shuts it, then turns to John. He furrows his eyebrows and reaches for John's hair, running his fingers through it and making it look messy.

"Is my outfit at least okay?" John asks. He's wearing jeans and a plaid button up shirt, the only one in his closet that he's sure Sherlock wouldn't say, 'looks like an 80-year-old man owns'.

"Satisfactory," Sherlock says.

John smiles.

"I've got dance this afternoon, but tomorrow afternoon I'll repay you that pizza."

John smiles wider. "Great."

Sherlock just gives him one last smile, the genuine one that John thinks nobody else ever sees, then turns around and walks away.

* * *

After their afternoon pizza date on Tuesday, John tells Sherlock to call him whenever he wants. And Sherlock clearly uses that as an invitation to really call _whenever__ he wants. _

John gasps awake from the phone in his bedroom ringing. He scrambles for his wrist watch, finding that the time is well after midnight, then confusedly answers the phone.

"'Lo?" he slurs.

"John," Sherlock says.

"Sherlock? Are you okay? What's—"

"I don't know what to wear tomorrow."

John sits up. "What?"

"Keep up John, you know how I hate repeating myself."

John rubs his eyes. "I'm just confused. It's after midnight and you're worried about what to wear."

"Is it? It's after midnight, really? Were you asleep?"

"Yes," John says, perplexed.

"Must have lost track of time."

"Sherlock, what are you doing? Go to sleep."

"I can't, John. I don't know what to wear tomorrow."

John groans. "Why does it matter?"

"It always matters!" Sherlock cries, sounding offended.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry."

"Are you going to help me or not?"

"Yeah, okay, uhm…" John lays back against his pillow. "Wear that…that gray tank-top."

"The cutoff one?"

"Yeah," John says, feeling himself fall asleep again. "Your belly button is cute."

Sherlock laughs. "Is it? Well, I can wear that, then."

"Perfect," John yawns. "Can I go back to bed now?"

"Yes," Sherlock says. "You have helped immensely."

"Great. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, John."

John can barely hang up the phone before he's asleep again.

* * *

The next night, John is woken up in a similar way. The only difference is that it's almost two in the morning.

"God, Sherlock, what?" he answers.

"John, would it look ridiculous if I painted my fingernails?"

John can't help but laugh. "What?"

"My fingernails, John, do keep up. What if I painted them purple?"

"Well, purple is your favorite color."

"Correct. Would it be ridiculous if I painted my fingernails that color?"

"Would it make you happy?"

"Yes."

"Then do it."

Sherlock doesn't reply for a few seconds. John closes his eyes.

"Are you there?" John asks before he falls asleep.

"Yes, I just…nobody's ever…I've never…"

John knows Sherlock wants to say that nobody's ever told him to do something that makes him happy.

"I know," John says, not making Sherlock say something he's not comfortable with.

Sherlock takes a deep breath. "Okay. I'm going to do it."

"You do that."

"Can I do yours tomorrow?"

John laughs. "Goodnight, Sherlock."

"But John—"

John hangs up before Sherlock can talk him into saying yes.

* * *

John goes to bed on Thursday night already awaiting Sherlock's phone call. He almost can't fall asleep because he's anticipating the phone ringing at any moment. He finally falls asleep, and the call comes only a half an hour later.

"Hello?" John grumbles.

"What if I wore lipstick?"

John doesn't even bother sitting up or opening his eyes. "Mmm," he sighs. "I don't care."

"Would it look ridiculous?"

"Your lips are gorgeous, it'd look…hot."

"Really?"

"You're taking advantage of me," John says. "Calling me when I'm half asleep to compliment you on things you are already aware of."

Sherlock chuckles. "I am not. I don't expect compliments."

"People compliment you all the time."

"'_Sherlock, you have the hottest arse in school,_' is **_not _**a compliment."

John chuckles. "Fair enough."

"So, the lipstick?"

"Do it, I don't care."

"You don't think a man wearing lipstick is weird?"

"No, of course not. People can do and wear whatever they want. Your nail polish looked great today, by the way."

"Did it?"

"Yeah, my mum pays a lot for manicures and hers never even look that good."

Sherlock laughs. "Thanks."

"So wear the lipstick. Fuck 'em if they don't like it."

"You're right."

John smiles into the phone. "Get some sleep though. Please. You'll fall over one day."

"Okay," Sherlock says. "You, too. Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

John hangs up smiling. He falls back to sleep almost immediately.

* * *

On Friday, Sherlock invites John over for dinner since he knows his mother will have a date with her disgusting boyfriend. They get into Sherlock's car after school, and John comments that it's filthy.

"I'll get it washed later," Sherlock says.

"Nonsense, I'll wash it this afternoon."

Sherlock shakes his head.

When they get to the house, Sherlock excuses himself to wash up and John wanders the house looking for supplies to wash Sherlock's car. He finds soap, a bucket, sponges, and towels, then goes outside to start.

"You know, when I offered you a ride home this morning, I didn't mean for you to come over to wash my car."

John laughs. "I don't mind."

Sherlock sits on the hood and leans back, his neck extending gorgeously and hair flopping down. He closes his eyes, his long eye lashes brushing his cheeks. He changed his clothes, now wearing short shorts, a tank top and no shoes.

He looks amazing. John watches him, wanting to touch him, but that wasn't part of the agreement. Heck, he doesn't even think Sherlock has real feelings for him. So he settles on just staring, and that's fine.

John clears his throat, gaining his thoughts again. "You'd better move or else I'll get you all wet."

Sherlock smiles. He lifts his head again and opens his eyes.

"Do you…I don't know, require assistance?"

John laughs. "I can tell that the offer was halfhearted, don't think I don't know that you don't want to help."

"Oh John, you already know me so well."

Sherlock pushes himself off the car and moves to the grass at the edge of the driveway. He flops onto the ground and lays out in the sun.

John gets to work, but he gets hot quickly. He doesn't wish for his clothes to start to smell, so he pulls his t-shirt off over his head.

"Hold this," he says, then tosses his shirt at Sherlock.

It lands on Sherlock and he sits up, neatly folding it and holding it against his chest. John doesn't let it get to his head. It's just a t-shirt.

"So, what got you dancing?" John asks a few minutes of silence later after noticing Sherlock stretching his feet and toes.

"I've been dancing since I was three-years-old," Sherlock answers. "I don't know why. My mother says I had impressive beat and timing for a toddler, so everyone told her to put me into dance classes. I excelled at ballet, but now it's everything."

"Do you like it?"

Sherlock shrugs.

"That's a no."

"That's a…I feel…impartial towards it. If I do it every day, fine. If I wake up tomorrow and can never do it again, then oh well."

John nods in understanding. "I couldn't imagine putting that much time into something and not absolutely loving it."

Sherlock shrugs again. "What are you interested in?"

"Oh, you know. I like music. I like movies. I like science."

He notices Sherlock perk up a bit. "What kind of science?"

"Anatomy, astronomy, biology…pretty much any kind of science."

"Astronomy?" Sherlock questions. "Why?"

"I like stars."

"Hmm."

"I know a lot about stars and space."

"Ahh," Sherlock sighs. "What are there, like six planets? What's so interesting about that?"

John gapes at him. "_Six _planets? Sherlock…what?!"

Sherlock shrugs. "Deleted all of that. It wasn't useful."

"Deleted? What the hell does that mean?"

"I delete things. Why should I clog my brain with useless knowledge when I can store more useful things in it?"

John scrubs soap on a patch of caked on dirt. "That's the wildest thing I've ever heard."

"Is that a bad thing?"

John shakes his head. "No. Just interesting."

Sherlock nods. He bites his lip, then asks, "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"I, uhm…I like science, too."

John laughs. "What, is that a secret?"

"Nobody really knows. I…" he bites his lip again. "I'll be right back."

"Okay?"

* * *

Sherlock runs into the house and straight upstairs to his bedroom. He goes to his bookshelf, then starts removing thick books one by one until he gets to the back of the shelf. There, hidden to everyone but him, are notebooks and notebooks filled with scribbles, equations, chemical stains, and experiment results.

He runs back outside to John. When John sees him, he sets the hose down.

"Uh…here," Sherlock says, handing the stack of books to John.

John confusedly takes them and opens the top one. "What's this?" he asks.

"They're, uhm…experiments."

"Experiments?"

"Scientific experiments, mostly in chemistry. I love to do them. When I say I love science, I really mean it."

John flips through pages and slowly smiles.

"Sherlock, this is amazing. You're a bloody genius."

Sherlock smiles.

"Why would you keep this a secret? This is amazing!"

"Others wouldn't understand. Everyone is too idiotic to understand anything."

"Even me?" John asks.

Sherlock grins. "Especially you."

John's gaze snaps up to him.

For the first time, Sherlock notices how close they are. By the way John's pupils dilate, his breath hitches, his cheeks flush, his fingers twitch, and the way he nearly drops the stack of books, he knows John notices, too.

"Pupillary response, extra-cardiac stimulation of the sympathetic nervous system, concentric contraction, temporary vasocongestion, myasthenia."

John licks his lips and glances at Sherlock's.

"What's all that mean?"

"Your pupils are dilated, your heart is beating faster, you're trembling with nervousness, you're blushing, and you suddenly feel weak. It's a fancy scientific way of saying you have a crush on me."

John chuckles. "That's hardly surprising. And really brilliant, actually."

"You think so?"

"Of course. Quite extraordinary."

Sherlock smiles. Now he blushes. Not even Victor has ever complimented him so much.

Sherlock leans in just a hair closer, but John slowly backs way. "These are brilliant. Mind if I look at them later?"

"Sure," Sherlock says, biting back disappointment. What did he want John to do anyway?

"I'd better rinse the car before the soap dries."

"Oh, of course." Sherlock takes the books from John. "I'm just going to go put these back inside then."

John nods.

Sherlock turns around and starts towards the house, but John calls him back.

"Hey, Sherlock?"

Sherlock eagerly turns around. "Yes?"

John looks at the books. "Thank you. For sharing that with me."

Sherlock nods. "Uhm, do you want something to drink? Lemonade? Water?"

"Anything," John says with a smile.

Sherlock nods again, then disappears into the house.


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock decides they _need _to go shopping on Saturday. For one thing, it'd been almost two weeks since he bought anything, and he was having withdrawals. And two, he was so very tired of John showing up to school wearing whatever is in his closet.

Sherlock picks him up to go to the mall, and he feels very excited. Of course, he loves shopping, but he is actually really excited to be out with John.

He's finding more and more that this arrangement isn't so bad after all. Two weeks ago, he didn't even want to learn John's name. And now he's sweating nervously on his way to pick John up.

John coolly hops into the car without opening the door.

Sherlock laughs. "John!"

John smiles widely. He pulls on the black vest he's wearing over a blue and purple shirt. Sherlock gave him that vest just last night. "How's my outfit?" he asks. "Alright to be seen with me?"

Sherlock laughs again as he starts to back out of the driveway. "Yes. You look…actually, quite handsome."

John blushes and looks out the window.

* * *

Sherlock parks the car and they walk to the entrance hand in hand. John's palm sweats ridiculously, but Sherlock only squeezes his hand tighter. Sherlock's hand is perfectly dry, and John senses he isn't nervous at all.

When they get inside, Sherlock lets him go. John pushes away disappointment, he'd love to be seen holding Sherlock's hand, but he doesn't say anything or reach for Sherlock.

"Where to first?" he asks.

"My favorite store," Sherlock says. "This way."

John follows, but he already knows that Sherlock's favorite store is one of the most expensive places in the whole mall. He doesn't have much cash on him, just enough to treat Sherlock to dinner, so he plans to only look around the store.

The first thing that catches his eye is the case of sunglasses. They're beautiful. Every once in a while, Sherlock wears jet black sunglasses and they look gorgeous on him. John picks up a pair of black Ray-Ban Wayfarers with lenses that change from blue to purple.

"These are great," he says, trying them on.

"Wow," Sherlock mutters.

John looks at him. "What?"

"Nothing, you just…" Sherlock diverts his gaze. "You should get them."

John laughs. "How much do they even cost, I wonder? I couldn't afford—"

Sherlock places a hand over John's. "They're on me," he says, his smile wide. He digs in his back pocket and takes out a credit card with his mother's name on it.

John can tell he's not going to take no for an answer.

* * *

They shop for a very long time, but Sherlock, believe it or not, prefers just walking around outside the stores with John. As they left the first store, John's hand brushed against his as they walked and John pulled it away as if he was shocked.

"Oh, sorry," John muttered.

When they left the second store, Sherlock touched his hand on purpose.

When they left the third store, Sherlock made an excuse that they had to break left, down an escalator, so he hooked his index finger into John's pinky and ring finger to hold onto him. When he touched John, he could've sworn he felt John's pulse stutter in his ring finger. And Sherlock loved the way it felt, for some odd reason.

They've walked around the rest of the time like that, barely holding hands but touching more intimately because of the innocence. Victor never touches Sherlock innocently. John touches Sherlock like he's afraid Sherlock's going to break into a million pieces.

John makes Sherlock go eat at the pizza place, and Sherlock knows it's because John wants to treat him for dinner. Sherlock doesn't mind, he just wants John to feel comfortable. Sherlock even eats a little bit, even though he's not all that hungry.

* * *

On Monday night, while John is fast asleep, Sherlock calls. As usual.

"What?" John answers.

"John, I need your help."

"I don't care what you wear, if you paint your fingernails, or if you wear lipstick. Please, just let me sleep."

"John, it's not about any of that! I need real help!"

John sighs and sits up. "Alright, alright, what is it?"

"Okay, pay attention. Are you listening?"

"Yes, yes."

"Okay. What…do I…want to be…when I grow up?"

John opens his eyes for the first time. "Are you fucking joking?"

"Of course not, John! I have an entire report due _tomorrow _and—"

"Goodbye, Sherlock."

"No, John! John!"

"_What_?"

"What did you write?"

John hangs up.

* * *

Sherlock has an early dance practice the next morning. It's inside the dance room inside the school, where there's the giant floor length mirrors and ballet barres. Sherlock walks in late, as usual.

The girls are all sitting on the floor stretching.

"Nice of you to join us," Sally mutters as Sherlock takes a seat to change his shoes.

"Sorry," he says. "I had a late night."

Sally and Irene exchange a knowing look.

"Late night, huh?" Irene asks.

"Yup," Sherlock says, oblivious as to what they mean. He looks up at them staring at him with smirks on their faces. "What?"

"Late night…with Watson?"

It clicks in Sherlock's head. "What?! No!"

They laugh and take places in front of the barre.

"It's really not like that," Sherlock says, joining them. He easily lifts his leg onto the barre and rests his ankle over it, then extends his foot flat. He's better at this simple task than any other girl taking place at the barre.

"What's it like, then?" Irene asks.

Sherlock shrugs, not losing his balance at all.

"Haven't you even kissed yet?" Sally asks next.

Sherlock can't help but smile. No, they haven't, but the thought…

"So then…what's going on with Vic?"

Sherlock slowly frowns. He hasn't even thought of Victor in the past few weeks. Victor hasn't even called.

Sherlock just shrugs again.

When they finish at the barre, Sherlock makes them go through the first steps of their routine for the upcoming competition. It was choreographed by their coach, but since he can remember things right after seeing it, he shows the girls the steps no problem.

All of the young first year girls who made the team glare at him. He knows they've all been dancing for a long time and it takes the first years an entire year to get it through their heads that he's better than them. But for now, they all hate him. And it only makes him strive to do better.

When practice finally ends half an hour before school starts, all of them go to the locker room to shower and change. Most of the girls are fine with Sherlock being in there while they're already in their underwear, but he goes next door to the boy's locker room to shower alone.

When he gets back, Sally and Irene stop talking when he enters the room. He drops his bag on the bench between rows of lockers and sits to pull his shoes on.

"Great outfit," Sally says. She sounds suspicious, like she's hiding something.

"Thanks..."

The three of them exit the locker room together while all the other students in school are filling the halls. They walk through crowds to get to their hallway, and when they arrive, John is waiting for Sherlock with Greg, Anderson, and Sebastian.

The girls push to walk in front of Sherlock then, purposefully walking between the three boys.

"Hey John," they purr in unison. Their hips sway and each of the boys, even Greg, look down at their backsides as they walk.

Sherlock _is _jealous, he knows that. Now he's figured out that they were talking about John when he entered the locker room, and he knows now that they are both clearly attracted to John.

So, to fix that, he stops next to John and wraps both arms around his neck, joining his hands to rest on John's opposite shoulder.

"Hello," he says, nearly in a whisper.

John looks at him right away, easily tearing his eyes away from the girls.

"Hi," John whispers back.

Sherlock's stomach flips. He wants to lean in and kiss John, right there in front of everyone, but he doesn't. He settles for John's smile, a smile so large that it seems like John hasn't smiled all morning until he saw Sherlock.

"Okay you two," Anderson says, patting Sherlock's back. "No eye sex in the hallway."

The boys laugh, even Greg, then leave John and Sherlock in the hall.

"Walk you to class?" John asks.

Sherlock nods, then walks down the hall with John, John's arm around his waist and one of his arms around John's shoulders.


	8. Chapter 8

"Do you want to go out on Friday?" John asks on Wednesday.

Sherlock shakes his head. "Football game. But you can come, if you want."

John smiles. "Yeah. Of course."

Sherlock smiles back.

They make plans for Thursday night, which is alright with John, and on Friday they go to the match. Sherlock doesn't let him go for a minute, but he isn't sure if it's because of Sherlock's feelings or because of how the girls act when Sherlock leaves John alone for a minute. During a class he has with Irene, she kissed his cheek three times, whispered in his ear four times, and popped a button on her button up shirt in front of him. Clearly Sherlock doesn't like that, but John still doesn't know what that means.

* * *

Sherlock wakes up early on Saturday morning due to police sirens zooming past his house. He's up and dressed in a flash, pulling on a suit and grabbing his long coat; he's in the car by the time the first ambulance passes. He follows it at full speed.

Sherlock parks a block away from the crime scene, then rushes right up to the yellow tape.

"What's going on?" he asks a bystander.

The woman he asked shrugs. "I heard gunshots and called the police."

"You called the police?"

The woman nods.

Sherlock studies her. She's not shaken up at all. Most people would be after hearing gunshots so close that they need to call the police. Plus, she's completely dressed in nice clothes, not anything anyone who just woke up would wear (except him, apparently). It's not anything anyone who lives in this building would wear.

He darts away from her, then wanders over towards where there are a few officers clustered together.

Pick pocketing one is easy. He gets the identification card and badge of a young deputy who has curly black hair too, and he's sure the Detective on duty isn't going to notice.

He flashes the badge and the tape is lifted for him.

The gunshots were heard coming from a flat on the second floor of a ratty old building. Sherlock would never go in it otherwise, but the setting does tend to make anyone who lives in the building suspicious.

He gets inside and upstairs, flashes 'his' badge again and is let in immediately.

"What have we here?" he asks, making his voice as deep as possible.

The Detective Inspector looks at him. "And you are?"

"Detective Holmes. Private detective."

"Eh, we don't need an amateur in here, son."

Sherlock looks at the next youngest guy in the room. He can tell that the man is hardly older than he is; he can tell by the man's uniform compared to everyone else's that it's hardly been worn; and he can tell by the man's green face that this is probably his first dead body up close.

"First case?" Sherlock asks him.

The man's eyes grow wide. "How did you—"

"Irrelevant," he mutters, turning back to the DI. "Let me see the body."

With a reluctant shrug, the DI leads Sherlock to the bedroom where the body was shot. It's a man, he's laying face down with a bullet in the back of his head.

"Have you found anything?" Sherlock asks.

"No fingerprints but his, it looks like. There's drug paraphernalia everywhere. We figure it was a drug deal gone wrong."

"Drug deal at this time of the morning? Even drug dealers and users sleep in." Sherlock looks around at everything in the flat. It's almost empty, but there are men's clothes everywhere and there looks to be nothing a woman would own. It's a man's flat. "He lives alone."

The DI nods. "Looks like it."

Sherlock bites his lip. A theory forms in his head that the woman outside is his wife or girlfriend who found out about another woman, so she went there to shoot him.

"Can I see a black light?" he asks.

It's in his hand in a second. The shades are drawn to blackout the room, and he turns the light on.

There's spots all over the sheets. It confirms his theory.

"He brings another woman, or multiple women, here to this cheap flat when he wants to get away from his wife. She obviously doesn't let him do drugs in the house, so he keeps it all here. The wife found out, came here, and shot him. She's been planning it for a while."

The DI's looking around the room, trying to figure out how Sherlock got all of that, but when Sherlock says the last sentence, his eyes snap up to Sherlock.

"She's been planning it? What?"

"Oh, yeah, she's not even shaken up at all."

The DI looks confused. "What?!"

Sherlock turns towards the door while ripping off his rubber gloves. "I met her outside."

The DI rushes after him, asking him how he knew, who he is, generally saying 'fuck' as many times as he can before Sherlock gets out of the building. When they get out to the street, Sherlock nods at the woman he spoke to. The DI, the _stupid _DI, looks right at her, and the woman immediately starts to run away.

"Stop her!" the DI shouts, starting to run after her himself.

Sherlock just rolls his eyes and calmly walks away from the crime scene. He doesn't let his happiness show until he's in his car, where he practically screams in excitement.

All he can think of is telling John, so he goes home to leave his car, then runs all the way to John's house.

* * *

He's never been to John's house, but he knows which bedroom is John's. Sherlock's lucky it's a one story house, or else he'd have to ring the doorbell like a normal person.

Instead, he goes right to John's window and slides it open. It's just like John to not lock his windows, he's too trusting sometimes. Sherlock hops up and gets into the room without a problem.

The room is warm and his coat is way too hot to wear, he only grabbed it to look more professional. He tosses it over John's desk chair and removes his suit jacket, too.

Sherlock goes over to John's bed and just stands over John's sleeping form for a second. He looks so peaceful, so innocent, and Sherlock can't help but smile when he sees the phone on John's bed right next to his pillow.

He sits at the edge of John's bed, next to John's hip, then jumps past the ease of waking John up gently and goes straight to shaking John awake.

John sits up fast, nearly screaming.

"Sshh, John! It's me!"

"Sherlock? What the hell?"

Sherlock throws his arms around John's neck and hugs him tight. "You'll never guess what just happened!"

He feels John hug back. "You broke into my bedroom."

"Before that! John!" Sherlock pulls back to look at John's face. He takes John's head in his hands and says, "I solved a murder!"

John's eyes grow wide. "What?!"

"I solved a murder! A real murder! There was a body and blood and I solved it within two minutes of entering the room!"

John opens his mouth to reply, but Sherlock can't contain his excitement anymore. He swiftly leans forward and presses his lips against John's.

When he pulls back from the little peck that nobody else would think anything of, John's face is more surprised than it was a second ago when Sherlock told him that he solved a murder.

Sherlock doesn't let John ask questions, he doesn't want a discussion about feelings because he doesn't even know what he feels, he doesn't know if he's comfortable with anything like that yet. The kiss was out of excitement, even if he did mean it.

Instead, he jumps off the bed and starts with the explanation.

When Sherlock's done and they've discussed Sherlock's brilliance for at least half an hour, John tries to get him out of the house without getting caught. Unfortunately, John's mother catches them trying to sneak out.

"Oh Mum," John says. "I didn't know you were up."

She looks between them. Sherlock suddenly feels very awkward. He used to spend the night at Victor's all the time, but Victor was older and he wasn't innocent little John Watson.

"What are you two doing?" she asks, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"Oh, Sherlock came over last night to study and we both fell asleep before he could leave."

"Uh huh," she says, clearly not believing it. But Sherlock knows the truth, so he doesn't really care what John's mother thinks.

John formally introduces Sherlock to his mother, Jane, and Jane asks if he'll be staying for breakfast.

John gives Sherlock a look that says, 'No, get out of here!', so naturally Sherlock thanks her and agrees with a sweet smile. John rolls his eyes, and Sherlock finds it worth it.

* * *

They don't talk about the kiss again. That's obviously fine for Sherlock, but John itches for some answers.

_What was that?_

_Why?_

_Did you mean it?_

_Can we do it again, preferably when my teeth are clean and I'm fully awake and we're both more calm?_

But John doesn't ask. He knows how uncomfortable Sherlock is with it, so if Sherlock wants to pretend it never happened, so be it.

This whole agreement will be over next Sunday anyway.


	9. Chapter 9

The last week of their 'dating' is spent apart, which was John's idea. Sherlock reluctantly agreed, inwardly wishing that John wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, but he did have to agree with John that finding out if everyone will still be his friend if Sherlock isn't there is probably a good idea.

So, on Tuesday, Sherlock schedules an extra long dance practice to keep his mind off of John hanging out with the boys.

It doesn't stop Irene and Sally from keeping his mind off of John hanging out with the boys.

"What do you think they're doing?" Sally asks during a water break.

"They're probably at the mall talking to girls."

Sally looks scared.

"Oh shush," Irene tells her. "Don't act like you haven't been completely lusting over John for the past month."

Sherlock pretends not to hear, but they both glance at him, as if making sure he heard.

"It's not like John would be into you anyway," Irene says next. "How do you know he and Greg aren't hitting it off right now?"

Sally chuckles a bit, and Sherlock can feel them both watching him. He can also feel his ears grow red. He hadn't thought about that. Greg is gay and John is…well, John likes him. And Greg is attractive. And popular. He dresses moderately well—

"How are you and Watson, by the way?" Sally asks Sherlock.

Sherlock jumps, lost in his own thoughts. "Oh, we're fine."

"That's good," she says, not sounding like she means it.

"Are you going to take him to the dance in two weeks?"

Sherlock shrugs. "I hadn't thought about it."

She grows a grin and takes the last drink of the water.

Sherlock grows annoyed, so he ends the water break by instructing the girls to run the routine again.

* * *

Meanwhile, John and the boys are at the mall. They're all standing against a railing and watching girls go by.

"How about her?" Anderson asks.

Sebastian speaks up first. "Nah, too blonde."

"What kind of girls do you like, John?"

"Uhm…" John shrugs. "Any, I guess."

The guys laugh.

"Yeah, that's my kind of girl too," Anderson says.

"What about Sally?" John asks.

Anderson laughs again. "Man, we're teenagers. We can't think too much into it."

John nods, not completely understanding but not wanting to argue. He wants to ask why he even goes out with Sally if he wants to date other girls, but it's none of his business.

The boys continue critiquing every girl that passes, and John just stands back and watches. He doesn't want to say bad things about girls, so he keeps his mouth shut.

A few minutes of watching later, John notices a girl watching him. When they meet eyes, she smiles at him. He smiles back. She's cute.

"Aye, Watson!" Sebastian cries. "Go over there. She's eyein' you!"

John shakes his head and looks at the guys again. "I…I can't, man."

"Why not?" Anderson asks.

"Well…because of Sherlock. I can't—"

Greg cuts him off. "You don't think Sherlock's calling Vic after he calls you?"

John frowns. Sherlock hasn't mentioned Vic at all, but—

"He's been stringing me along for years. Don't think you're all he's thinking about."

"That's because you're dumb enough to go when Sherlock calls," Sebastian reminds Greg.

Greg waves a hand. "The point is that Watson should be allowed to look and talk to pretty girls if Watson wants to. Am I right, Anderson?"

Anderson nods. "Right, mate."

Greg pushes John in the direction of the girl. "So go over there."

John clears his throat and stands up straight. He smoothes down the gray jumper he's got on and fixes the sunglasses hanging on the collar.

"Alright," he says, then he leaves the boys to watch him flirt with the first pretty girl he's ever flirted with.

* * *

Wednesday is much the same, except that Sherlock doesn't keep the dance team late like he did the night before. He's home by six, but his mother isn't even in the house.

Feeling sad and wanting attention, Sherlock immediately thinks to call Victor. He always runs to Victor.

Sherlock picks up the phone in his bedroom and dials the number to Victor's flat.

"Hello?"

Sherlock's stomach turns. The voice is that of an unfamiliar male. He has no idea who it is.

"Hi, uhm…" he swallows down the dumb, vulnerable teenager lump in his throat. "Is Victor there?"

The man chuckles. "He's in the shower. Can I take a message?"

Sherlock's stomach drops even more. "No, no it's okay."

He hangs up before the man can say anything else.

Now, Sherlock doesn't feel like being alone. And the only person he wants to be with is John. So, he puts on the best outfit he can find (that gray cutoff tank top that John likes and the tightest pair of jeans he owns), and heads over to John's house.

He composes himself on the drive to John's. He wipes the emotions he's having from his mind. He wants to appear calm and collected to John.

When he arrives, he feels better. He runs right up to the door and rings the doorbell, and John's mother answers.

She offers him inside and directs him to John's bedroom, adding a sly wink to 'but you already know where it is'.

Sherlock goes right into the room.

"Have you got any time for me on your busy schedule this evening?"

John's sitting at his desk, so he spins in his chair. "Yes, of course." He smiles widely. His eyes even brighten.

Sherlock goes to the desk and places one hand on John's shoulder. He peers at the work John's doing on his desk. He also notices two of Sherlock's science notebooks holding each other open next to John's homework notebook. It makes him unbelievably happy; Victor's never given a damn about his experiments.

"Have a seat," John says, reaching over to pull another chair to the desk.

"Actually," Sherlock replies, moving to John's bed. "I'd rather sit here."

John laughs. "Well, alright."

Sherlock sits and pats the bed next to him. Of course, John goes over and sits next to him.

He sits snuggly on the bed next to Sherlock, but that's it. He doesn't make a move to touch Sherlock, to even smell Sherlock, he just starts talking about his time at the mall yesterday.

* * *

John Watson is an idiot, and he knows that. Any warm blooded human male would absolutely pounce on the gorgeous creature sitting on his bed, but John Watson is an idiot.

Instead of sitting down and running his fingers over a perfect bare shoulder, then carefully pressing his lips against where his fingers touched, he sits down and nervously starts rambling.

"So," he says, as Sherlock leans back on his hands. "Yesterday I went to the mall with the guys and there was this girl there and she was really cute and she kept smiling at me so I went to talk to her and we talked about school and she's really smart but not as smart as you and she asked me out and I said no but it made me happy because she liked me."

Sherlock frowns and sits up, scooting just a bit further away from John. John wants to punch himself in the face. If there's been any sign indicating Sherlock's feelings towards him, that was it.

But John is nervous, so nervous. He's never even kissed anyone, besides that pathetic attempt Sherlock did a few days ago. And that so doesn't count, not by John's standards.

And Sherlock is so perfect. So wonderfully shaped with beautiful skin, the most breathtaking smile he's ever seen, stunning blue-gray eyes, and don't even get John started on Sherlock's amazing body. And when Sherlock speaks, his elegant words spill from his spectacular brain via his magnificent mouth, John feels more turned on than just looking at Sherlock.

And that's all why he's so nervous. He could never compete with someone like Victor, the big-time football star playing for a real football club. And he doesn't even know if Sherlock actually likes him!

John keeps talking, and eventually Sherlock falls back on John's bed. John joins him until they're laying side by side staring up at the ceiling.

"I've upset you," John says.

"No, no," Sherlock disagrees. He sounds genuine. "Of course not. I'm glad you're having a good time."

"Thanks," John says. "Hey, have you done any experiments lately?"

Sherlock smiles. "Well…"

* * *

Sherlock goes home around eight, when John's mother says it's time for him to go. He feels much better than he did when he first went to John's, which is what he wanted anyway. Thinking about it, going over there to throw himself at John probably wasn't the best idea.

When John started talking about the girl he met at the mall, he realized one thing: John may have started this whole thing based on a crush he had on Sherlock, but hanging out with the popular kids and turning into a popular kid himself has opened John's eyes to an entirely new world, one where he can chat up anyone he wants and they'll want him back. And that's fine to Sherlock.

_Maybe._


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock disappointedly arrives at school alone on Tuesday. He'd gotten used to giving John rides to school over the past four weeks, so now he supposes he'd just better get reacquainted with being without him. That is, until the pretend wounds they both need to have after just breaking up can have time to heal, then after that it will be appropriate for them to be friends again.

He meets Irene and Sally at their usual spot by the vending machine under the stairs, where Anderson and Sebastian are chatting up each girl. When he arrives, Greg grins at him and his eyes trail down Sherlock's long body before Greg bites his lip. Sherlock rolls his eyes. Another thing he'll miss about 'going out' with John is that Greg left him alone, respecting John's friendship.

Sherlock walks up to them and Greg crowds him against the wall. Greg's hand plants flat on the wall next to Sherlock's head and he leans in to Sherlock.

"Good morning, doll."

Sherlock rolls his eyes again.

Just then, they all hear the door nearest them get thrown open and a loud energy's presence is made. Sherlock is completely shocked when whoever it is rounds the corner and he sees that it's John.

Greg pushes off the wall away from Sherlock, no doubt still respecting John's relationship with Sherlock. Sure, everyone knows they broke up yesterday, but Sherlock knows Greg wants John's permission before going after Sherlock again. Sherlock doesn't really care that Greg is respecting John more than him in this whole thing, he's going to deny Greg anyway.

The girls, however, clearly don't care that their friend's just broken up with John. The two of them flock to John like moths to a flame. They reach John before John reaches the rest of the group.

"Looking great, John," Irene says, placing a hand on his upper arm.

Sally grabs the lapels of John's ridiculous suit jacket with two hands. "John, you're taking me out on Friday night."

John grins and pointedly looks at her mouth. Sherlock rolls his eyes _again._

"Oh, I am, am I?"

Sally nods, leaning forward and Sherlock thinks she's going to kiss him, but she only wiggles her nose against his. John blushes still, then rubs her shoulders.

Fearing doing some damage to his eyes if he rolls them again, Sherlock storms away from the group before he can hear any more.

* * *

John can't believe the attention he's getting. Everyone treats him like a king, which is reasonable. He'd surely fear and admire the guy who broke up with the hottest person in school so publicly. Yes, sure, he feels terrible for embarrassing Sherlock like that, but Sherlock will bounce back. Sherlock's already got it all.

But he feels bad when Sherlock storms away from the group. He's got an arm full of Sally, gorgeous sweet lovely Sally, but he's still watching Sherlock walk away.

No matter, though, because a second later he's being pulled away by Sebastian, who hardly gave him the time of day just last week, and Sebastian's spewing something that sounds like a sex question if John was paying attention. Instead, he's purposefully overhearing Sally and Irene behind him.

"_I was going to ask him out!" _Irene yells.

_"Relax, 'Rene. It's only October."_

He glances back to see Irene push Sally's arms off of her, then quickly walk away from her. Sally just looks smug and satisfied, and John can't help but feel smug and satisfied that he's the cause.

"I'll get back to you on that, mate," John says to Sebastian as the next hall comes and he needs to part with the guys.

Sebastian nods and tells John to call him, then he and Anderson leave John alone with Greg.

"Listen John," Greg starts as the boys are far enough away.

"What is it, Greg?"

Greg rubs his neck. "Look, I was just wondering if it's alright if I, y'know…" he grins. "If I take a turn getting tired of Sherlock now."

John laughs. "Sure, mate, no problem. Maybe you'll have better luck than I did."

Greg laughs at him. "Hey, let's hope!"

Greg pats his arm, then takes off after Anderson and Sebastian.

John shakes his head and walks to class, in complete disbelief of how his day is going. And it's not even eight o'clock yet.

* * *

Friday comes quickly, and John is so excited for his date with Sally. He's never gone out with a girl before, and he hoped it wasn't too different than dating a boy. The one thing he noted as a difference is that he is to pay for Sally; it was just polite to him. Plus, Sherlock had told John that Sally gets upset because Anderson always makes her pay on their dates, so John wanted to stand out and be a nice gentleman.

He picks Sally up in his dad's car, which is only slightly embarrassing. He'd taped cardboard to the doors of the car, where his dad's tile business was advertised, but the car was still old and dingy. Still, it is better than nothing.

John watches as Sally fixes her hair in the door mirror. She fluffs her frizzy chocolate brown ringlets and John actually wonders if her hair is as soft as Sherlock's.

"Say, does your dad sell carpet?" Sally asks.

"Uh, no. Tile, why?"

Sally smirks. "My granddad sold carpet and he had a car just like this."

John laughs loudly at that.

"So," he asks next, "Why'd you ask me out?"

"You went out with Sherlock. He is _Sherlock_."

John shrugs. "Can't argue with that logic."

They pull up to the gang's usually hangout and rushes around the car to help Sally out. She giggles and comments how sweet he is, and even if she was just playing a part, John would believe every word of what she said.

Greg, Sebastian, and Irene meet them by the car.

"Aye John," Sebastian says, "Sweet ride."

John laughs, knowing Sebastian isn't serious. "Hey, it gets me from A to B doesn't it?"

Greg pats Sebastian's chest. "Yeah, more than you have, mate."

Everyone laughs.

"Say what is it, John?" Greg asks, peering into the windows of the old car. "An '80, '81?"

John shrugs. "I, uh, yeah, it's a—" he laughs. "I have no idea."

Greg and John join him at the window and each of them peer inside.

"Men and their cars, right?" Sally asks Irene.

"Hey," Greg says, "And it even comes with a place for the ladies to sit."

The car is a long station wagon, so Greg nods at the long bed in the back.

John and Sebastian laugh.

"Hey, right!" Sebastian cries.

John reaches in the window to straighten the blanket in the back that covers the spare tire, but instead he meets contact with a hard little head.

"Harry!" he hisses, and her little face peeks out from under the blanket. She grins and he pushes the blanket back over her, shoving her head down in the same motion.

John looks back at the group and claps his hands together. "Pizza?"

* * *

Sally excuses herself to the restroom as soon as they go to the window to order.

"So," Irene purrs, stepping as close to John as possible. "You, me, dance next Saturday night?"

John smiles. "I thought Sally was your best friend."

Irene smirks. "Don't you know that best friends share everything?"

John grins. "Alright, sure."

Irene leans close to John and whispers in his ear. "I bet you're a really…sexy dancer."

"Oh yes," John sighs. "I have moves that defy the laws of gravity."

Irene rubs her nose against John's, then backs away.

"See you later," she says, then she saunters over to Sebastian and wraps herself around him.

"Moves…" John mutters to himself. "Dancing. Shit."

* * *

On Monday, in the locker room early in the morning, Sherlock stands against the door while the girls get dressed. He picks at a fingernail and doesn't look at the girls, not wishing to make any of them uncomfortable.

"So…how _was_ he?" Sherlock hears Irene ask.

He glances up at them to make sure they aren't talking loudly to toy with him, but they're not even looking at him.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Sally asks.

"Don't worry," Irene replies, "I will."


	11. Chapter 11

John wakes himself up on Saturday morning thinking about how he can't dance. He's out of bed in a flash, running into the sitting room where the only television in the house is. Unfortunately, Harry has the remote control.

"Harry!" he yells. "I need the telly!"

"As if," Harry mutters.

"Harry, now!"

Harry smirks. "Alright, I learned a little thing called supply and demand. I have something you demand, so you supply me with…ten quid."

"False, that is not how supply and demand works."

"Hey, I'm in primary school not uni."

John rolls his eyes. "Alright, let me teach you about the theory of relativity. You don't give me the remote, I'm down one relative!" John darts at Harry, but she ducks out of the way.

She tosses the remote on the sofa. "Hey, have at it babe."

John shakes his head and grabs the remote, changing the channel to a popular dance show that's on Saturday mornings.

* * *

Harry runs outside to where their parents are busying themselves with the gardening. She leans against the fence where Ron is working.

"He isn't the same person anymore!" she cries. "He's no longer John The Geek, have you seen him? He's…he's…he's not _John!" _She throws her arms in the air and wanders over to Jane.

Ron calls to her even though she's no longer by him. "Oh Harry, he's just growing up!"

Harry makes a face. "I was talking to Mum, Dad."

Jane laughs. "Leave your brother alone, Harriet."

Harry rolls her eyes and makes her way back to the house.

* * *

There are two dancers on the screen, each doing the same synchronized dance. John watches, confused, not sure what _kind _of dance he's watching, but if it's on the popular dance show, it's got to be what's in. So he mimics the moves of the dancers, waving his arms spastically and moving his feet in what he hopes is the same rhythm.

This goes on for nearly five minutes before John hears Harry storm into the house, so he runs out of the sitting room to get back into his bedroom to practice.

* * *

Later that evening, John picks Irene up the same way he picked Sally up just a week before. He hadn't been out with either of them since, but lunches with them did get more awkward when they'd sit John between them and ogle over him the entire time. They'd fight for his attention by taking turns feeding him chips by hand or touching him in some other way. He tried not to look at Sherlock, but every once in a while the look on the other boy's face would catch John's eyes and John would get confused about how to feel about the pout. As payback, John knew, Sherlock would let Greg hold him close and kiss his cheek or his neck. He knew Sherlock hated it, every second of it, but it _was_ making John feel bad, so Sherlock was winning.

John and Irene meet everyone else at the dance. Anderson is there with Sally, Sebastian is with the young girl Mary, and Greg is there with another boy in their grade. John is shocked that Greg isn't there with Sherlock, but then he spots Sherlock with an older mystery boy and his question is answered.

"Come on, let's dance!" Irene begs as the rest of the group leaves them to dance to a slow song.

The dance John had rehearsed was fast, not slow. He didn't know how to hold Irene close and sway like everyone else was. This was his first dance after all.

"Hang on," John mutters, taking Irene's hand.

"John! I want to dance!"

John licks his lips and nervously rubs his eyes. "Uh, I'm really thirsty. Punch?"

Irene shrugs. "I guess."

John leads her over to the punch table where they get a cup each and wait for the song to end. John tries not to watch the other couples (primarily Sherlock and his mystery date), so he just nervously looks around everywhere but the dance floor.

Finally, the song ends and a fast tune starts up right after.

"Can we dance _now_?" Irene impatiently asks.

John bites his lip. He sets his cup down on the refreshments table, then take Irene's hand. He pulls her to the dance floor and she excitedly squeals.

John swallows the nerves building in his stomach up to his throat, then he wastes no time. He starts the dance he'd rehearsed, and immediately everyone stops to stare at him. He feels every eye in the gym on him, everyone gazing at him like he's an alien.

He catches Irene awkwardly look around, probably wishing she could disappear, but then she surprises John by watching him intently and, seconds later, joining in. He smiles at her and she smiles back, and they dance together under everyone's eyes.

Their lonely dancing doesn't last long. Soon enough, everyone joins, and John no longer feels embarrassed. The entire gym does what he does, except for Sherlock. John catches Sherlock pull his date out of the crowd, but he doesn't pay attention to the boy after that. He could care less if Sherlock left the dance, John was happy with the people who are now his peers.

* * *

Mike pays six pounds for him, Sarah, and Molly to enter the dance.

The kid taking fees and tickets smirk as Mike asks for three tickets. "Two dates, eh Stammy? Or we all just friends? Right, Stammy? Always the friend, never the boyfriend?"

Mike grins. "Hey, I'm here with two beautiful, smart women and you're sitting here taking tickets."

The kid glares at Mike as he rips their tickets. "Go in."

Mike smiles and the girls behind him chuckles.

"Way to go, _Stammy,"_ Sarah says.

Mike rolls his eyes. "Ugh, don't call me that."

"Aww, Stammy!" Molly cries, pinching his cheek.

"I miss John getting this abuse."

"Hey, where is boy wonder, anyway?" Sarah asks.

Molly pats her shoulder. "Oh. My. Gosh."

Mike and Sarah follow her gaze, and they all watch with their jaws dropped as the entire gym does the same ridiculous dance. And there, in the center of it all, is one John Watson.

The song ends as they stand there watching, then all three of them break into laughter.

"Isn't that the—"

In sync, Molly and Sarah cry, "The African Anteater ritual!"

The trio laughs harder as the dancing students clap and laugh loudly.

* * *

After the dance, John and his friends go to the usual hangout. They talk nonstop about John's awesome dance, they ask where he got those moves, and he just says he's always had them.

Sebastian and Mary join them after they're all already comfortable, and Mary sensually rubs John's arm. John smiles at her.

"Hey, where'd you get those moves?" she asks, her voice low and slow and extremely sexy.

John grins. "I, uh, have friends in exotic places."

They all laugh at this.

Irene's sitting on the hood of John's car and John's leaning against her, but once Sherlock catches John's eye, he forgets all about Irene's long legs against his hips. All he can think of is Sherlock being there with some other guy.

So John leaves his group to go talk to Sherlock, who is ordering at the window alone.

"'Lock, babe," he says as he approaches.

Sherlock's head whips around to him. "My name is Sherlock, and do _not _call me babe."

Sherlock takes the ice cream cone he'd just ordered and storms away from the window.

John follows. "I was just trying to say hello," he says.

"Then just say it," Sherlock mutters.

"Why are you being like this? I was just trying to be friendly."

Sherlock glances back at him, a deep scowl on his face. "Why don't you go be friendly with _your_ friends?"

John feels bad at the way Sherlock emphasizes the 'your'. They were Sherlock's friends first, and John practically stole them. He never sees anyone but Greg talk to Sherlock, and that's only because Greg is trying his hardest to sleep with Sherlock.

"I owe all of this to you," John says, softer this time. More genuine; almost an apology.

"I do not want credit for this," Sherlock tells him. "Your…your _disciples_ are making fools of themselves. That dance? What the hell was that?" Sherlock finally turns back to John. "And how they all followed you. I've seen zombies with more individuality than that!"

John grows annoyed that Sherlock is so upset with him while Sherlock is doing the same thing, dating someone else already. "Oh, yeah? Like your college boy? What's his name, Brick?"

Sherlock huffs. "His name is Brett."

"What is the difference?"

Sherlock sighs. "See you around, John."

Sherlock turns around to walk away, leaving John frustrated and confused. He misses Sherlock, misses his company, misses his…well, the little outfits he'd parade around John in weren't that bad. And he doesn't know what to do. Go after Sherlock and do what? Really date him? He doesn't even know if Sherlock likes him. He doesn't know what Sherlock would do if John went after him. And John's not sure if he wants to lose the attention he's getting from the girls. Irene and Sally draping themselves all over him and fighting over him is better than he could have ever imagined.

With an annoyed grunt when Sherlock lets _Brett _kiss his neck, John returns to his group, who are still talking about John's moves at the dance.

* * *

John drives Irene home before curfew, but she doesn't leave the car as soon as they arrive. He shuts the engine off and she stays in the passenger seat, and the silence between them is awkward.

Irene speaks first, while John sits in his seat and stares straight at the steering wheel.

"Alone at last," she sighs, turning her body to him. "You're so far away."

John slowly looks at her. Her lipstick is bright and seductive, her dress is low cut and John's eyes trail the shadow of her breasts. He nervously licks his lips.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, scooting a tiny bit closer to her.

Irene slowly peels her jacket off, revealing slim spaghetti straps holding her dress up. "Tell me, John…" she says, folding her jacket and draping it over the seat between them. "Do you like long distance relationships?"

John lets out a nervous chuckle. "Uh, no."

"Then why don't you reach out and…touch…someone?"

John cracks a grin and starts to giggle like a schoolboy as Irene slowly, slowly, slowly slips a strap off her perfect shoulder, letting it fall before she works the other one down.

John's throat goes dry. He can't swallow or lick his lips; all he does is stare as the top of her dress falls down. _This_ is definitely something Sherlock couldn't give him.

"What do you think?" she asks, looking for praise.

"Beautiful," he sighs, blinking his gaze up to her eyes. He falls forward and captures her mouth with his, then she grabs his hand and guides it to her chest.

They kiss in his car for as long as it takes for him to nearly explode. He doesn't want to have sex with her, not now and not here in front of her parent's house in his car. He's so nervous and overly excited that he knows it'd be embarrassingly fast, and he can't let it get around that he's some eager virgin.

When she reaches for his belt, he politely brushes her off, giving her an excuse that he wants to get to know her better. Sherlock always says that guys go out with Irene for _one reason, _and he wants to make it clear to her that he's not going to be one of those guys. She agrees and gives him kiss after kiss anyway, then she pulls her dress back up and leaves the car.

John practically vibrates the entire way home. The image of Irene's body will forever be engraved in his mind, but part of him still can't help but think about his exchange with Sherlock. He can't help but fear that Sherlock hates him.

With a mental sigh, John lays on his bed and falls into a very happy, yet unsatisfied, sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

A few days after the dance, Mike is sitting in front of John in science class while they watch a short film about space exploration. The lights are dimmed and it's silent, and Mike finds this a good opportunity to talk to John about their dwindling friendship.

He leans back to where John can only hear him.

"John, we haven't talked in weeks. I mean, I know you've got your friends now, but…I'm not dead."

John doesn't say anything. Mike glances back at him and sees that John's sunglasses are on and he's not moving.

"John? Come on, why are you ignoring me?"

Again, John doesn't reply. Frustrated, Mike reaches back and lifts John's sunglasses, finding that John's eyes are shut tight.

Mike rolls his eyes and turns around again.

* * *

A week later is Halloween, and John is so excited that this year he actually has plans. Usually it's been either staying home to pass out candy or taking Harry around the neighborhood to collect her own, but the thrill of Halloween died down when he was young. Not this year. This year is different.

He hears the horn of Greg's car and rushes out of the house while still dressing. The guys told him to wear black, so he's pulling a black long-sleeve shirt on.

"Hey John!" Ron calls after him. He and Harry are decorating the outside of the house.

"Yeah Dad?"

"Be careful, son. Police are cracking down this year, okay? Don't get into any trouble."

"Trouble, Dad? Me?" John laughs and runs to the car.

* * *

"I hope your checkbook is ready to bail him out," Harry mutters, watching her brother climb into Greg's car.

"Oh shush," Ron tells her.

* * *

Mike grabs the rope his little brother hoists at him.

"I wanted to get in the tree," Robert cries from his spot on the ground.

"You'd fall out," Mike tells him. "Besides, you get to squirt them with your water gun, remember?"

Robert sighs. "Okay…"

Their father joins them at the base of the tree. He pats Robert's shoulder proudly.

"How is it up there, Michael?"

"Great, Dad. Almost done."

Mike secures the last of the rope cage he'll use later tonight to catch one of the vandals who terrorizes their home every year. Once it's done, he hops down from the tree and his dad pats his shoulder, too.

"We'll get them this year, boys."

Mike and Robert high-five.

* * *

"So," Sebastian starts from the backseat of the car. There's a crate of stuff next to him, and he pulls each item out one by one to show John. "We've got old tomatoes, eggs, and here…" Sebastian lifts a brown paper bag.

John plugs his nose. "Is that…human feces?"

Sebastian laughs. "No, it's doggy-doo. But it's close enough, right?"

John gags and Sebastian places the bag back in the crate.

Greg pats John's shoulder and holds a saucer of black paint to him. "Here."

John takes it and glances at Greg, noting the black all over his face, so John does the same. "So, where are we going?" he asks.

"We're going to this house we've gone to every year for the past four years!"

"It's a tradition now, eh Greggy?" Sebastian adds from the backseat.

"Great," John excitedly says, spreading the face paint all over himself.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they pull up to a very familiar house in a very familiar neighborhood. John's stomach drops.

"Hey, do we have to do this house?" he tries. "I know another house, just as good, about a block away-"

"This is the house!" Greg cries. He parks across the street and shuts the engine off.

"Here John," Sebastian says, holding the brown paper bag up for him. "You throws this at the front door. We'll cover you."

"Cover me…"

"Relax," Greg says. "You've got this."

John swallows fear down. It'll be okay, he doesn't think he'll get caught. All the lights of the house are off, and it's dark, so he assumes the family is out. He hopes the family is out.

They all file out of the car, supplies in hand, and get into position.

"Ready John?" Greg whispers.

John takes a deep breath. He wants to back out, he feels terrible about this, but he doesn't want the guys to think he's a complete loser. He nods.

"Okay…go!" Greg yells, and John makes a run for the front door.

He hears someone else yell, an adult, but soon he notices Greg is throwing eggs at the man who clearly wants to run out and confront them. John is squirted over and over with water, but Sebastian starts to throw tomatoes at where the water is coming from.

John runs right to the front door and throws the sack at the door, then turns back to the car and runs as fast as he can.

He's not fast enough. Rope drops from the big tree in the front yard and he falls to the ground, then a figure follows the rope and reaches to tie him up.

"J-John…"

John frowns. He should've known he wouldn't get away with any of this. He feels absolutely terrible. "Mike…"

The shocked look on Mike's face is enough to make John regret all of this.

"I'm s-" he starts.

Mike pulls the rope off of him.

John scrambles to his feet while Mike just stares at him.

"I'm-" he tries again.

"You got him, son?!" Mike's dad yells before he starts towards them.

"John, let's go!" Greg yells from the car.

Mike just stares at him, but John starts back towards the car and runs to it before Mike's dad can join them.

* * *

Mike's never felt so hurt in his life. All of this, the past few months of losing his best friend was forgivable. If John had called him, he'd welcome John back and forget all about being ignored for the cooler kids. But this. This is enough to never speak to John Watson ever again.

His dad catches up to Mike by the time Lestrade's car speeds away.

"Damn," his dad mutters, patting Mike's shoulder. "Next year, son. We'll get them next year."

"Yeah," Mike sighs. He drops the rope that was holding John, then stomps back into the house, feeling terrible and betrayed.

* * *

Sherlock really didn't want to get together with Irene and Sally tonight, but he knows that the Halloween night tradition is for the boys and girls to do separate things. After picking Sally up from Anderson's house, all they do is drive around and try to avoid cops.

Sherlock had high hopes that the John-talk would be at a minimum, but Irene has been unable to shut up about him since Sally got in the car.

"What were you even doing at Anderson's house if you're still hanging out with John?!"

"What's it to you, Irene?"

"John said that you said that best friends share everything. You've had him for two weeks!"

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "You mean she's attacked him for two weeks."

"Wow, wait a minute!" Sally cries. "First of all, you still have Vic and now this Brett guy. Second, you let John dump you! He's public property now!"

"Mmm, sexy. Public property. He sounds like a restroom."

Irene laughs from the backseat.

"And first of all," Sherlock adds, "I don't have Vic."

Sally and Irene exchange a glance that Sherlock knows is their 'ha-ha on you' glance.

"And secondly, I didn't think my two best friends would drape themselves all over John the second he was out of my sight."

"And why wouldn't we, 'Lock?" Irene asks. "He's cute, smart, sweet-"

Sally grins. "_Good_."

Irene's jaw drops and Sherlock stares at her with disgust.

"Oh come on," Sally sighs, "A lady never talks."

"Yeah, next time I see one I'll remember that," Sherlock mutters.

Irene snickers in the backseat and Sally just tries to wipe the look of hurt off her face.


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: Going by the movie, the end of this chapter is exactly at the 30-minutes left mark. So I don't know how many more chapters that will be, maybe three or four. Hope you're all still enjoying! Drop a review!**_

* * *

A week of fall break has brought nothing but stress for John. There isn't school or work to do, but his grades have severely slipped this term and he can't give his parents his report card knowing he's got a C in writing. He's never gotten a C. He's never even dreamt of getting a C. His heart sinks when he thinks about it. His parents are going to be so upset.

"This is a lovely meal, Jane."

John's mother smiles over at her husband. "Thank you, dear. And happy birthday."

Ron grasps her hand and squeezes, then picks up the big knife to cut into their turkey. Every year for Ron's birthday, they have turkey; not only is it Ron's favorite meal, but it's also around American Thanksgiving, so they like to steal the tradition and have a huge meal, too.

Harry wanders into the dining room holding a homemade guillotine and a Barbie doll.

"Hello family," she says, throwing herself onto her seat. "Would you like to see the project that got me a B in French?"

They ignore her, but John watches her put the Barbie in position to get her little plastic head chopped off.

"So John," Ron starts, snapping John out of his trance of watching his terrorist little sister. "How is your report card?"

John licks his lips, nervous. "I, uh…I haven't gotten it, yet."

Harry snorts. "You're the only one from primary to uni who didn't."

"You didn't get yours yet?" Jane asks.

"Let me repeat," John says, defensive. "I said I didn't get it. Do you not believe me?"

"Hey, relax," Ron tells him. "You said you didn't get it, you didn't get it."

John huffs. "Thank you."

Taking the attention off of him, Harry lets go of the string holding the blade of the guillotine, and a second later it chops Barbie's head off. With a wicked laugh, she starts to dig in to her food. John just shakes his head and hopes for his little sister's future.

"Well, let's see your report card then, Harry."

Harry smiles widely and pulls a slip of paper out of her back pocket. John rolls his eyes.

"Let's see…" Ron sighs. "Three B's and two C's. Well done, honey!"

"Very well done!" Jane agrees, ruffling her blonde locks.

John huffs. "Big deal. Three B's and two C's. What's so great about that?"

"John—"

"I've been getting straight A's since birth."

Harry stares at him. "So?"

"So everybody doubts the whereabouts of my report card. That's real fair."

Ron interjects. "Nobody's doubting you. You said you don't have it, so you don't have it."

"And I don't have it!"

Harry stops him. "They're just concerned—"

"Concerned. Here's my concern. You're raising a doll-chopping, homicidal maniac, and what do you do every time you see her? You pat her on the back and give her money. Real fair."

John stands from the table and tosses his napkin on the plate in front of him. He storms out of the dining room, not sorry for his little outburst.

* * *

Harry stares at her brother leaving the room.

"Geez, what's his problem?"

"Shut up, Harry," Ron says.

Harry frowns. "I was talking to Mum, Dad."

"Shut up, Harry," Jane adds.

Harry frowns further and sinks into her chair.

* * *

Sherlock stares out the window of Brett's little white car. Sherlock doesn't know much about cars, but he knows that it's a nice vehicle (not as nice as his). It's Brett's prized possession, and Sherlock doesn't understand it.

"Here we are," Brett says, pulling into the parking lot of the usual hangout. "Back to primary school."

Sherlock sighs. "Look, these people are my friends, okay? The least you can do is try to be a little bit nice."

"Go and say hello to your little friends, then. And while you're at it, get me a chocolate milk shake. Extra thick."

Sherlock stares at him. "What?"

"Sorry, did you not hear me?" Brett roughly asks, turning to Sherlock. "Read my lips. Chocolate milkshake. Extra. Thick."

Sherlock rolls his eyes and gets out of the car, not because he wants to do as Brett is demanding, but because he just wants to get away from Brett.

Sherlock thought using Brett to get over John would be simple, he thought Brett could show him a good time and he'd be able to move on, but Brett has been a walking nightmare. He's unkind, rude, and arrogant, which is bad in a person if Sherlock, king of rude and arrogant, is judging.

He turns up the collar of his coat and tries to avoid the gaze of Sally and Irene, who are propped up against Sally's car with Anderson and Sebastian between their legs. He can hear them all laughing and having a good time, but he doesn't long to be with them. Away from Brett, sure, but not with them. Not when all they can talk about is John, even when the other boys are all over them.

Sherlock makes it to the window to order and gets Brett his stupid chocolate milkshake. It's ready in a minute and he pays, like he always does, then goes back to Brett.

"Here you go," he says, hoping to start the evening over by being polite. He hopes Brett will thank him with a nice kiss and they can get out of here instead of staying to mingle. His house is empty, after all.

Brett's scrubbing a blemish off of the hood of his car, so he absentmindedly grabs to the cup and takes a sip.

Then, slowly, he stands to face Sherlock.

"This isn't extra thick," he says.

Sherlock small smile falls.

"This is regular thick!" Brett cries, and Sherlock's sure his friends heard.

"Take it back," Brett demands. "Get me another."

Sherlock glares at him and takes the cup, but he doesn't want to do what Brett demands. He isn't Brett's servant; he's not someone who does what another person tells him to do.

Sherlock takes the top off the cup. "I thought it was the right consistency," he says. "Here, let me check."

With a grin, Sherlock dumps the entire contents of the cup on Brett's head, then he drops the Styrofoam cup on Brett's precious car.

"Looks thick to me," Sherlock mutters, leaving Brett to try to soak up the mess with the little rag he has.

Reluctantly, Sherlock goes over to his group of friends. They're all watching Sherlock and laughing, and when he approaches, they all high-five and hug him. For a minute, he feels like it's back to their old days, when they all got along.

"Alright, 'Locky!" Irene says, kissing his cheek.

"That looked called for," Sebastian adds.

"It was," Sherlock agrees, glancing back at Brett.

They all laugh when Brett lets out a cry and climbs into his car. He leaves while the chocolate milkshake is still streaming down the hood of the car.

* * *

The friends leave only ten minutes later. Sherlock gets dropped off first, and he's glad to get a little bit of alone time while his mother is out with her disgusting boyfriend.

But when he arrives home, all of the lights in the house are on. Confused, he wanders into the kitchen, where his mother is pouring herself a cup of tea.

"What are you doing home?" they ask each other at the same exact time.

They both laugh.

"I thought you had a date with…what's his name?" Sherlock asks.

"I can say the same for you," Ella tells her son. "I've just…had enough of his kind for a lifetime."

Sherlock laughs. "Same here."

Ella takes Sherlock's coat for him while he goes to the refrigerator for a snack.

When she returns, Ella announces that there's a great movie on television.

"I'll get the popcorn," Sherlock says with a smile.

Ella smiles back, her face lighting up with happiness.

Sherlock's glad that even though his evening started rough, he can finish it happy with his mum.


	14. Chapter 14

Christmas comes quickly, and after the scare he had with his report card, John finds it wise to start picking up the pieces of what he's broken with his new life. Of course he starts with Mike.

Mike, of course, doesn't give him the time of day. John knows that what he did is unforgivable, that the incident on Halloween is one for the 'never speak to you again' history books, but he tries anyway.

He tries in their joint science class, but Mike ignores him. When the bell rings, Mike gathers his things quickly and rushes out of the room.

John follows.

"Mike!" he tries. "Mike, wait! I…I can explain—"

"Took you long enough," Mike mutters between clenched teeth.

"Mike! Will you please talk to me?!"

Mike sidesteps a group of girls and gets past John, but Sebastian and Greg pass Mike, so John stops because of them.

Trying to be cool in front of the guys, John calls after Mike, "Alright you're not invited anyway!"

Greg playfully punches John in the stomach. "Invited to what?"

"My house, New Year's Day. Watch a little football, eat our weight in pizza."

"A party?" Sebastian eagerly asks.

"A party!" John cries.

"Hey, alright!" Sebastian and Greg say, high-fiving John.

"That is," Greg adds, "If we're not dead from my party the night before."

"Hopefully we'll survive it, man," John says.

The boys stop at John's locker, and Sebastian glances around John.

"Someone wants your bones bad, man."

John grins. "Who is it?"

The guys spin John around, where Mary is seductively staring at him from a few lockers down. John's never caught her looking at him before, and an excited chill runs through his body.

"Get it!" Sebastian whispers, then he and Greg leave.

John smiles at Mary and is about to walk up to her when Sherlock hops in front of him.

* * *

_No time like the present, _Sherlock thinks, spotting John down the hall. Since breaking it off with Brett and still not hearing a word from Victor, Sherlock's feelings for John have grown and he actually knows they're real feelings.

He misses John, not only John's company, as he's told himself previously, but John's everything. John's smile, John's warmth, John's kind heart, John's beautiful eyes. His longing to be near John in every way he can has grown so much the past few months.

He wants everything John has to offer, and he wants to give John everything he has.

So, without hesitating, Sherlock walks up to John with all intentions of asking him out on a real date.

* * *

Stunned, John stands still. They haven't talked much, not really, because ever since their 'break-up' months ago, Sherlock's been giving John the cold shoulder. And John is over it, decidedly. He thinks he can do better than Sherlock Holmes, better than a fake relationship that he bought.

And honestly he's grown a little bit resentful that Sherlock's treated him this way all of these months. Sherlock didn't need to cut him off completely, Sherlock didn't need to huff and roll his eyes every time John was near.

"Hey, hi," Sherlock says. John can tell he's nervous. Sherlock Holmes, nervous.

"Long time no talk, huh?" Sherlock adds.

"Yeah, uh…I've been busy, you know."

"Right, yeah. Popularity, it's time consuming."

John props himself against his locker.

Sherlock clears his throat. "So, listen, I, uhm…I was thinking, maybe sometime we could…we could go out to that spot in the woods again. The snow there will be gorgeous and—"

John stops him. "You're not under any contract anymore. You're not obligated to even be seen with me."

"I know, I know, it's just…" Sherlock clears his throat and tries to compose himself. John has never seen Sherlock act this way. "I did a new experiment recently, I think you'd like it. It's about—"

"Hey, why don't you talk about this stuff with your college boy?"

"I…" Sherlock furrows his beautiful eyebrows. "I want to tell you."

"You ignored me every year we've been in school together. And suddenly you feel the need to share this crap with me?"

"It's not crap," Sherlock says, defensive.

"You've ignored me for months now, and suddenly you want to ride the John Watson Express."

Sherlock grows a disgusted look on his face. "I don't want to ride the John Watson anything."

John pointedly looks at Mary, who is still a few lockers down. "Looks like you're the only one."

Sherlock turns around. "What, Mary? She's punched her ticket with every guy at school."

"Yeah?" John asks. "Well, at least her ticket won't cost me a thousand pounds."

Sherlock visibly turns red. John's never seen him look so angry, and he instantly feels sorry for saying that and being so rude. Sherlock turns around and walks away, and John runs after him.

"Sherlock!" he calls down the hall.

Mary steps away from her locker to impede John's route to Sherlock.

"M-Mary, hi…" John stutters, nervous because he's never really had one-on-one time with Mary.

"John," she sighs, her voice making his name sound gorgeous. "What are you doing Friday night?"

Glancing towards Sherlock one more time, John mentally shrugs and lets him go. He smiles at Mary.

* * *

Sherlock wipes his eyes as he marches down the hall. He's never, ever, ever cried over a boy, not even in primary school when his first love, Peter, called him a freak in front of everyone. He didn't even cry when Vic moved away. But here, at school, he's crying over John Watson, of all people.

Regretting trying to talk to John, Sherlock vows to stop trying with John. He vows to not let John near him either, because John's clearly got his heart and eyes set on figures who aren't like him.

Sherlock wipes his eyes one last time, then stands up straight and composes himself. He isn't going to let this bother him.


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: Victor says really mean things to Sherlock in this chapter.**_

* * *

John arrives at Greg's New Year's Eve party with his date Mary and Anderson and Sally.

"The fun has arrived!" Anderson announces upon entering the house.

John and Mary laugh.

The pairs part and John turns to Mary.

"Can I get you a drink?"

Mary smiles wickedly. "Whatever's strongest," she says.

John laughs and leans in to her. "Well, alright."

Mary gives him a tiny kiss, barely brushing their lips together, then she playfully shoves John away.

* * *

Sherlock pours himself his fourth glass of 'punch', which is at this point only an entire bottle of vodka. Irene started pouring it all in the big bowl, then realized she didn't have the actual punch, so she told Sherlock to keep watch and make sure nobody drinks it. Sherlock is the only one who's drank it. He's slammed three glasses in a row, and he's milking the fourth.

Irene returns with the punch.

"Hey, this is powerful punch, 'Rene," he slurs already.

Irene laughs. "Babe, I haven't even poured the punch.

Sherlock shrugs, then smiles. He doesn't know what his face looks like, but he's not so much in control of the muscles anymore.

It makes Irene laugh. "That's straight vodka!"

"All right," Sherlock says, his voice playful.

Irene shakes her head. "Hey, that's a great outfit."

Sherlock looks down his body and smooths down the silky black blazer he's got on over a purple button up shirt.

"I asked my brother to borrow his blazer and he said I could."

"Progressive," Irene says.

Sherlock tugs on the blazer. "We make a great couple, me and my outfit."

"I'm sorry Vic didn't make it home for the holidays," Irene says. She actually looks sorry, to Sherlock's shock. "You must really miss him."

Sherlock just sips his drink and doesn't say anything.

* * *

After another glass of 'punch', Sherlock realizes he really needs to use the loo. He stumbles upstairs, taking twice as long because there was a double of each step, and finally makes it up to the nearest bathroom.

He opens the first door he comes to and it's not a bathroom.

"Hey, get out of here!" the guy on the bed yells.

Sherlock laughs. "Sorry," he mutters, shutting the door again.

Sherlock stumbles further down the hall, thinking as hard as he can and remembering that the bathroom is at the other end.

Sherlock's stomach turns unexpectedly and he feels rather hot. He struggles to get his blazer off, groaning when the sleeve gets stuck on his hand, but eventually it comes off and he's in front of the bathroom door.

The door is cracked open enough for Sherlock to see the toilet. Well, who is sitting on the toilet and who is mounting him.

"Oh, John…" Mary sighs. "I'm so happy…I'm finally going out with the hottest guy in school."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, then has to grab onto the wall because he makes himself dizzy.

"Oh…" John says against her lips. "I'm _very _hot right now."

"You are _it,_" Mary tells him.

"I am it," John agrees. "And that's why you're with me."

Sherlock watches John's hands trail up her thigh, pulling her dress up as they roam. John's fingers get up to her underwear, Sherlock sees, then Mary grabs his hands and pulls them down.

"No, John," Mary says, "You won't respect me."

"I do, I do," John pleads. "I respect you. I respect you so much."

"Show me," Mary says.

John frees one of his hands. He trails his index finger along her temple.

"Pupillary response…" he says.

His finger moves to her chest, above her heart. "Extra-cardiac stimulation of the sympathetic nervous system…"

John's finger continues along her chest, down her dress. "Concentric contraction…"

Next, his finger travels back up to her face, trailing her cheek. "Temporary vasocongestion…"

Finally, John pulls her onto his lap to take her weight. "Myasthenia."

"What's all that mean?" she asks, her voice lower and deeper with, Sherlock can only assume, arousal.

John leans up to brush his lips against her neck. "It means you're just as happy about being here with me as I am being here with you." His lips clamp around her neck and she lets her head fall back.

"Oh, John!" she cries.

And that's all Sherlock can stand to watch. John's using his words for John to try to get this girl to have sex with him, so of course that hurts Sherlock. Upset now, he goes into Greg's parents room (that is empty because it was off-limits), where he stays for ten minutes to compose himself.

* * *

The doorbell rings so Greg rushes to answer. Shocked, he steps aside to let Victor in.

"Hey Vic," he says. "What are you doing here?"

"It's New Year's, isn't it?" Victor asks, shaking Greg's hand. "You got a drink for me?"

Greg nods. "Sure, right this way."

* * *

Irene checks her watch and goes to the plastic clock decoration hanging on the wall.

"Hey guys, thirty-three more minutes!" she announces, and everyone cheers.

She goes over to where Anderson is opening another bottle of beer.

"John!" Anderson calls over to where John and Mary are wandering, hand in hand, down the stairs. "I've got a cold one with your name on it."

John smiles widely and takes it, then they all start to laugh because of the excited little grin on John's face can only mean one thing. They all quickly figure out what they were doing upstairs.

* * *

Greg leads Victor towards the group.

Victor starts to laugh as they approach. "Is that John Watson? What the fuck, man? How much have I missed?"

Greg laughs, too. "Oh, yeah, he's become quite hot over the year. He's gone out with, like, everyone."

"Everyone, huh?" Victor asks, already sounding suspicious. "You don't date 'everyone' 'til you date the captain of the dance team, and I'm sure Sherlock isn't his type."

Greg bites his lip. "Uh…" Greg awkwardly clears his throat.

Victor glares at him. "Don't you dare tell me—"

"Okay, I won't," Greg says, pointedly shutting his mouth.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Victor cries.

* * *

"Hey, has anyone seen Sherlock?" Irene asks.

Everyone looks around and shrugs.

"He drank a ton of vodka," Irene explains. "I hope he didn't pass out somewhere."

Sebastian pats her arm and points to the stairs, where Sherlock is stumbling down.

Sally takes another glance around the room and sees Victor. "Hey!" she yells and points to him. "Vic!"

Everyone follows her gaze, including Sherlock.

"Victor!" he calls over.

They watch as Sherlock gets Victor's attention, then Victor stomps over to him and pulls him off the stairs. Victor looks murderous, and instead of intervening, the group follows them to the outside door, where Victor slams the door and starts yelling.

* * *

Victor's shouting is not at all helping Sherlock's growing headache and heartache. He feels physically ill, and it's not just from the vodka.

"John Watson?!" Victor shouts. "What the fuck were you thinking?!"

"I was…" Sherlock clears his throat and tries harder to not sound like a little kid being scolded. "I was thinking about how lonely I was without you, and how—"

"Don't use that bloody excuse," Victor tells him. "Don't tell me you _fucked _that loser because of _me._"

"I…I didn't!" Sherlock yells back, offended. "I didn't do anything with him!"

"Oh, you expect me to believe that, remembering how eagerly you threw yourself at me when we first got together?

"You know what, Sherlock?" Victor continues, "The only reason I've even kept you around this long is because of how eager you are to please me."

Sherlock frowns, hurt. He thought Victor loved him all this time. He's loved Victor all this time, after all.

"Vic, you don't mean that—"

"Yes I bloody do," Victor says. "You're just a stupid little kid gagging for a good fuck."

Sherlock's heart completely breaks. Never has anyone ever said such mean things to him. He can't believe what Victor is saying.

Victor pushes him out of the way and throws the door to the house open, where all of their friends listening in disperse and let him through.

Sherlock rushes after Victor.

"It wasn't real!" Sherlock cries. "He…he _paid _me!"

Victor turns back to Sherlock quickly, pointing a finger in his face. "Then that makes you a fucking prostitute," he spits, then rushes out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Angry and hurt, Sherlock looks around at the crowd staring at him. He spots John and grows more angry than ever before.

"You!" he yells, pointing at John. He feels like shouting, getting it all out, so he steps over to the record player and pulls the needle off the vinyl. The music stops and everyone stops to listen.

"You," Sherlock repeats. "Even Victor thinks we went out. Perfect, right? We fooled everyone, fooled 'em all! All of you thought we were actually together, what a joke!"

Sherlock notices the looks of confusion planted on all of his friend's faces. So, he explains.

"John Watson paid me one-thousand pounds to pretend that I liked him. What a deal, right? A thousand whole pounds to go out with _him_ for a whole month."

The reality of that sets in with Sherlock. He was bought, _purchased. _Victor's words ring in his head. _That makes me a prostitute. _

He runs a hand through his hair. "Oh god," he mutters. "He _bought _me. He bought all of you! He was just tired of being a nobody and he said all of you would worship the ground he walks on if he went out with me. And I thought that was crazy, I was like, _no way! _But he was right!"

Sherlock pauses when Irene makes her way over to him.

"No, no leave me alone," he says, shoving her hand off of his arm. He continues as if uninterrupted. "Our little plan worked, didn't it John? It worked, they actually fell for it! And how they followed you, ah! The stupid dance, everything. Just a bunch of brain washed followers you all are.

"But you know what?" Tears form in Sherlock's eyes. He sniffles and wipes his face on the sleeve of his silk shirt. "At least…at least I got paid."

With that, Sherlock nearly falls over with exhaust. Irene catches his arm and both she and Sally drag him upstairs.

* * *

John looks around at everyone staring at him. He turns to Greg and Sebastian who are next to him, but they both turn away from him.

"Greg? Sebastian?"

They completely ignore him. Just like they used to.

He looks back at the crowd of people on time for them to split, making an isle for him to walk down, indicating for him to leave. John nods once, clears his throat, then starts down the isle.

John gets to the front door, where Mary is trying to hide.

"Hey, you ready to go?" he asks.

She brushes past him. "I, uh, I don't know you."

John catches her arm. "You knew me pretty well about ten minutes ago."

Mary pulls her arm away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

John shakes his head, then leaves the house.

He didn't expect it to hurt so bad for people to find out about the money. He thought if someone did find out, he could explain that he had to _lend _Sherlock that money. He didn't expect it to be announced so loudly and publicly.

He really can't blame Sherlock, though. He cracked, and he was just as humiliated after Victor's scene.

Still, it could have been handled so much better.

But now John's lost everything, his friends, Sherlock, his reputation. Come Monday, when school starts again, he'll just be that loser John Watson again.

Bundling in his coat as much as he can, he starts for home in the snow.


	16. Chapter 16

John is a leper at school. Everyone treats him like a nobody except it's worse; before, people just didn't pay attention to him, he wasn't liked or disliked; but now, everyone hates him. Everyone thinks he's a monster and John believes it.

He tries having lunch in the cafeteria the first day back to school after winter break. He sits alone at a table between the cool-kids and his old friends, and it's like the student body did that on purpose. He's stuck there between the two groups who hate him the most.

John sits silently, picking at the pathetic little sandwich his mother made him. He wears his old clothes, a t-shirt and old jeans, unlike the fancier digs he'd been sporting the since he 'broke up' with Sherlock.

He doesn't even feel like eating, he just sits there to wait for the bell to ring.

* * *

Sherlock watches John sit two tables away and slowly pick at his food. Part of him feels bad for completely humiliating John at the New Year's Eve party, but the other part of him don't feel bad whatsoever. John was a complete dick to him, and Sherlock knows he doesn't deserve that.

Greg sits down next to Sherlock and surprisingly doesn't put his arm around Sherlock's shoulders or waist.

"How are you?" Greg asks.

Sherlock shrugs.

Greg leans in and kisses his cheek, and it doesn't even bother Sherlock. It's the most sincere anyone's acted since this whole thing started.

"Ugh, he is such a loser," Irene says, and Sherlock knows she's looking at John. "I knew he was a loser all along."

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"He went from chic to geek," Sally agrees.

Sebastian peels a banana and pats Anderson's shoulder. "Watch this," he says, then he tosses the banana at John, and it lands and splatters all over his table.

Everyone around them laughs and high-fives Sebastian. Sherlock just thinks about not really wanting to stop them.

* * *

Every afternoon, Sherlock and the girls go to their favorite pizza place, and every afternoon they see John's dad's car slowly pass. Every afternoon, John bends low enough in the driver's seat for the girls not to see him, but of course they know he's driving.

"Like we're not supposed to know he's driving," Irene says.

"Nerd-mobile," Sally adds.

Sherlock clears his throat. "As I recall, _some _girls got very comfortable in that…_nerd-mobile."_

Sally and Irene just shrink in their seats and look away from Sherlock. He grins and goes on picking at his frozen yogurt.

* * *

John goes on being ignored by everyone for months. By the middle of the second term, he's finally had enough. He knows he needs to make things right, and he needs to actually talk to Mike instead of letting Mike run away from him like when he tried to apologize around Christmas.

So he corners Mike at the arcade. Mike is busy playing a game, and John knows he won't abandon a game for the sake of not seeing John. So Mike stands there and glares at the screen when John joins. He ignores John for nearly ten minutes.

Finally, John speaks, "You could at least acknowledge me."

Mike huffs. "You think this is easy for me."

John hangs his head. "Look, I know I was a jerk to you, and to…_everyone, _I just…it's you I have to straighten this out with, okay? You're my best friend, you're my—"

Mike isn't listening whatsoever, John knows that. Mike doesn't care. So to get his attention, John grabs his shoulder.

Mike snaps. He yells wildly and lunges at John, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the game machine next to them. John's gasps, the wind getting knocked out of him, and Mike pulls his fist back.

John doesn't even wince. He deserves it, he knows he does.

"You threw _shit _at my house!" Mike yells. "On Halloween! You knowingly did that!"

John frowns deeply. "I know, I'm—"

"You did that to my house!" Mike yells next, right in John's face. His eyes swell with tears and his face turns red.

"I know," John whispers, his own tears swelling. He feels so sorry that among everyone he hurt, he hurt his best friend. "I'm sorry."

Mike calms a bit. He lets John go and turns back to his game.

John gathers himself and takes many deep breaths, then stands next to Mike again.

"I'm sorry," he tries. "I'm—"

"Go," Mike demands.

John wipes his eyes and does as Mike said, he leaves the arcade with Mike fuming.

* * *

Next, John tries to make it right with Sherlock, the other person he hurt the most. He isn't sure what he wants from Sherlock, if he wants to go out with Sherlock or if he even wants to be Sherlock's friend again, but he at least wants to apologize.

John stands out of sight at the corner turning towards the gym, and when Sherlock walks by, alone, John trots after him.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock briskly walks by, not stopping for John, then he darts into the girl's locker room before John can catch him. John almost follows, then realizes where they are and stops.

John watches girls exit the locker room on time for the bell ring, so he assumes there are no girls in there anymore. He runs into the room and looks around, seeing Sherlock nowhere, then goes over to the toilet stalls where he hears footsteps.

Under one of the doors are white Converse shoes, the same as a pair Sherlock has, so he paces back and forth and starts talking.

"Look, Sherlock, I'm sorry for following you in here but I have to talk to you. I need to apologize for everything I've done to you, for being such an arse and treating you like…like you're an item."

John leans against the stall door where Sherlock's shoes are and sighs. "All I've ever wanted is to be a part of your life, and the knowledge that I was got to my head. I turned into someone I'm not and—"

The toilet flushes and the door opens, but Sherlock doesn't step out. Instead, it's the young dance coach who apparently wears the same shoes as Sherlock.

"You sick-o, what do you think you're doing in here?!" she yells.

John is so stunned that he can't move. "I'm sorry, I—"

She quickly washes her hands, then grabs John's arm. "Month's detention for you, young man!"

"Wait, I, I—"

As he's being pulled out of the room, John hears footsteps jump from (he assumes) where Sherlock was hiding by standing on a toilet to keep his feet hidden. He frowns and lets himself be pulled to the principal's office.

* * *

Sherlock doesn't put much thought into John's apology because he really doesn't want to forgive John yet. John hurt him a lot, John humiliated him, and as the year goes on and he gains _his_ friends back, he cares less and less about John. What's done is done.

A week after the locker room incident, Sherlock sits alone at a makeup kiosk at the mall. He tests all the colors of nail polish on a pile of fake nails the lady at the counter gave him, and so far he likes the bright red the best.

He's suddenly aware of someone watching him, so he pauses with painting a lime green nail and looks around. There's nobody watching him, which is odd, but then he looks directly to his right side and suddenly there's a little girl sitting next to him.

"You ruined my brother."

Sherlock glares at the little girl. "What?"

"You took him from geek status to king status to no status."

Sherlock slowly nods. "Harry Watson, right?"

Harry smiles widely, giving Sherlock the same innocent smile John is capable of giving.

"He's resorted to sending a messenger woman?"

"I'm not his messenger," Harry argues. "I just thought you should know he's ruined."

"Well," Sherlock tells her. "I'm not discussing your brother with you."

"Why not? Let's chat, one…person who likes nail polish to another."

Sherlock chuckles. "Let me paint your nails and we'll talk."

Harry bites her lip in thought, eyeing each polish bottle, then finally slaps her hand down on the table. "One hand, and I get to choose the color."

"Deal," Sherlock says.

Harry chooses a light blue that's nearly clear, and Sherlock gets to work.

"So," Harry starts, "What'd he do?"

"Who?"

Harry rolls her eyes. "My terrible brother."

"He isn't so terrible."

"So you like him?"

"I didn't say that."

"So…you don't like him?"

"I didn't say that, either."

Harry looks at him confused.

Sherlock explains, "Perhaps you'll understand when you're older, but in my opinion, just stay away from boys."

"Eh, boys are scum, I already know that."

"Good," Sherlock mutters.

"And my brother isn't exempt. He hurt you?"

"Yes, he did."

"Because he went out with Sally and Irene and Mary and—"

"Yes, yes, I get it, thank you."

"They didn't mean anything to him."

Sherlock glances at her face, but she's watching her own hand. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"He'd go out on a date with them and still gush about you every night at dinner."

Sherlock's stomach flips. "Really?"

"Yeah, of course. And he'd have them off the phone by eight at night, with you, my mum threatened to cut the line in his bedroom."

This makes Sherlock laugh. He finishes with Harry's hand, so she slaps her other hand onto the table.

"He really loved you," Harry says next.

Sherlock suddenly feels ill. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I think so. I've never been in love."

"Never?"

"Had you been in love when you were my age?"

"Yeah," Sherlock says. "I loved a boy in my class."

"Oh," Harry mutters. "Well, anyway, I think he was in love. I don't know. So whatever he did…I'd consider forgiving him."

"Any why would I do that?"

"Because your dancing has turned to shit since you guys broke up."

Sherlock glares at her. She just smiles back at him.

He finishes with her last finger and she holds her hands up to take a look at them.

"Satisfactory," she says.

"You're welcome."

Harry smiles at him once more, then hops off her chair and runs away to join the friends she is with. Sherlock just shakes his head and sighs.

* * *

John's sitting in his room working on his stupid science homework. It's Saturday night and before, he'd be out with his friends having a good time, but now he's doing homework.

He leans over to get a good from the edge of his desk, but a pile of papers falls from under the book. With a groan, John bends to pick it all up.

Under a handful of papers, John finds a set of photo-booth pictures of him and Sherlock from their various trips to the mall.

They look happy, John realizes, and this was when their relationship was fake. Of course he knows he was happy, getting to hang out with Sherlock every day, but even Sherlock looks happy, and he was so opposed to this idea when John proposed it. John wants to kick himself for not appreciating it when he had the chance.

He decides to call Sherlock. He dials the familiar number and waits.

* * *

Sherlock's in his bedroom looking through his week of new magazines when there's a knock on his door. At first he ignores it, not wanting to talk to whoever is knocking, but then there's another knock and the door opens without his permission.

Ella walks in. "Uh, honey, there's a call for you. Someone named _Hamish_?"

Sherlock wants to laugh, remembering when he found out that was John's middle name (paying Harry two pounds to tell him), but he doesn't.

"I don't know anyone named Hamish."

Ella nods, then backs out of the room.

Sherlock lets his mother go for a second, then he follows her out, curious. He stands off to where his mother can't see him to listen to the conversation.

"Well, I'm sorry, my son doesn't know anyone named Hamish—" Ella says into the phone. "Wait, John! John, is that you?—Why'd you say your name is Hamish?—" Ella is silent for a minute, then starts again, "Oh…I see…-Yes, I'll tell him, goodbye John."

Sherlock steps further into the room. "What'd he say?"

Ella turns on the sofa to face Sherlock. "First he was a geek, then he was cool, and now he's a geek again. And honestly, honey, I don't know what a geek is."

Sherlock half smiles. "Currently, Mother, a geek is John Watson."

"Who says?"

Sherlock frowns, thinking about it. _I say, _Sherlock wants to tell his mother, but at the same time…he can't help but he happy that John called, that John is still trying. It's flattering, and after his talk with Harry Watson, he knows John's apologies are truthful.


	17. Chapter 17

With five weeks left of school, John decides he's waited for Sherlock's attention long enough. The phone calls, the lungful glances at school are getting him nowhere, he decides to do something where Sherlock can't ignore him.

At six in the morning one Saturday, he takes his lawn mower over to Sherlock's and starts riding it around his lawn. This will surely get Sherlock's attention.

Five minutes later, his wish is granted when Sherlock runs out of the house (wearing short boxers and a big t-shirt, but John tries not to notice).

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" Sherlock yells as he gets to John. "Shut this stupid thing off!"

John scrambled to turn off the mower. "I need to talk to you."

"My mother was ready to call the cops before I told her there's something wrong with your head!"

"Be that as it may," John agrees, "I had to get your attention. Every time I call you're at dance after eight at night, you're in the bath, or you're out of the country. That was a good one, by the way."

"Maybe you could take a hint and wait for me to be ready to talk to you!"

"I'm done waiting. I can't get you alone, and the last time I tried I got a month's detention!"

"Yeah, you're big in bathrooms," Sherlock retorts.

John's face drops. _Shit, he saw that, _he thinks.

He rubs his face. "Sherlock, just listen to me and I'll leave you alone, okay?" Sherlock nods, so John continues, "You…you completely ruined me on New Year's Eve. I…I was humiliated, but see, I realize that you did me a favor. I needed to fall off the cloud I was living on and be dropped back down to earth. I wasn't me, Sherlock, I know that, I was a complete arse and you had every right to do that to me.

"I finally got what I wanted, to be near _you_, and I took that for granted. I wish I could have another chance, Sherlock, just me. The real me. And you, exactly you as you are."

Sherlock just stares at him, but at least it's not with a vague 'I'm-not-listening-to-you' look; he's looking at John like he's actually listening for the first time in months.

John takes a deep breath.

"Alright," Sherlock says. "But not at six in the morning."

"I'll come back at eleven."

Sherlock cracks a smile. "I'll be…at dance. Or in the bath. Or out of the country."

John huffs out a laugh. "That was my favorite one."

Sherlock nods and turns around to head back into the house.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," John says quickly, before Sherlock disappears.

Sherlock looks at him again and says, "I know."

John watches him go back into the house, then he wheels his lawn mower away, thinking that even if they're not on perfect speaking terms yet, at least Sherlock listened and knows that he's sorry.

* * *

A week later, John's sitting in the cafeteria by himself, as usual. Everything is as normal, except when he looks over at Sherlock's usual table, there's something off. Mike is over there next to Irene, and they're…they're reading from a math book. Mike hands Irene the pencil he was using and Irene scribbles on the paper between them, then Mike smiles and Irene cheers. Clearly, Mike's tutoring her, and the way Irene looks at him…John would think maybe there's something more.

* * *

Sebastian sits next to Anderson and Greg, two tables away from the girls, and looks over to what the other two boys are looking at.

"What's going on?" Sebastian asks.

Greg points to Mike and Irene. "Nerd in our section."

"Ahh, what the hell?" Sebastian asks.

"Boy's trying to pull a John Watson," Anderson tells him.

Sebastian snorts. "I don't think so."

Greg pats his arm. "Relax man, he's harmless."

"What, because he's not scamming on your crush he's harmless? I don't think so. I'll be right back."

Greg and Anderson watch Sebastian leave their table and march over to Irene and Mike.

* * *

John watches intently as Sebastian makes his way over to the girls' table. Sebastian is practically steaming, his anger is evident even from how far away John is from them. He quickly gets up and heads over there, ready to break up a fight.

John and Sebastian arrive at the same time, and Sebastian grabs Mike and yanks him to stand up.

"What do you think you're doing over here, loser?"

"I-I was j-just—"

"Think you can pull one over on us, too?"

"Pull what?"

Irene moves to stand. "Seb—"

Sebastian pushes her back onto her seat.

The bully touching his best friend makes John mad, but pushing Irene makes John fume.

"Hey!" John yells, breaking Sebastian's concentration on Mike.

"What do you want, Watson?"

"I want you to unhand my best friend," John demands.

Sebastian lets out a laugh. "Go back to your pathetic corner, Watson."

"Let him go."

Sebastian shakes his head, so John suddenly grabs the math book Mike was using and slams it against the edge of the next table. It was open, so the spine cracks and now-loose paper falls out. Then, he turns back to Sebastian.

"You wanna let him go now?! I've got about four months of anger pent up and I'd _love _to let it out. I'll break your freakin' arm again."

Sebastian glares at him, but then he lets Mike go with a shove. John catches him and steadies him, then he steps up to get in Sebastian's face.

"You broke your arm once before, remember? We were eight years old and you fell out of my treehouse. Mike and I carried you all the way to the surgery seven blocks away. Remember that?!

"So, Sebastian, I understand your problem with me, but I think you owe Mike for not telling everyone that you cried like a baby for the entire seven blocks."

People around them chuckle.

Sebastian glances around.

John continues, now slightly more calm. "We were friends then, remember? All of us. And now you want to beat Mike to a pulp because…because he's talking to a girl you like? Mate…get the fuck over it. Mike's just trying to make friends, something I did entirely wrong. He's trying to be himself, and I had to buy my way in. So let up, because it's hard enough just trying to be yourself when you're a teenager."

Long seconds later, Sebastian gives a little nod, which John returns. Then John turns to Irene and asks if she's okay. She says yes and thanks him, so John turns back to Mike. He pats Mike's shoulder while handing his math book back to him.

"Sorry about that."

"No problem," Mike replies.

John makes his way back to his table, where he gathers his lunch and makes his way to the door of the cafeteria. As he's exiting, everyone bursts into applause and he catches Sebastian and Mike shake hands. With a small smile of accomplishment, John leaves the cafeteria to calm down before class.

* * *

The following Saturday, John goes over to Sherlock's house, where he starts on the front lawn. He has the lawn mower, but for now he's pulling stray weeds and just making it look nice.

It's a beautiful day, so he glances at the door every few seconds to make sure he doesn't miss Sherlock exiting the house, which he's going to do. Since it's gorgeous out, he knows Sherlock is going to go out somewhere with his friends.

Sure enough, around ten minutes later Greg's car pulls up and Sherlock exits the house.

John's stomach flips when Sherlock waves to them and makes his way over to John.

John wipes his sweaty face and wishes he wasn't looking disgusting with a bandana around his head, mud stains on his shirt and sweat shimmering from every inch of skin showing (his shoulders, neck, and face).

Sherlock makes it to him and holds up an envelope. "This is from my mum," Sherlock says.

John takes it. "Oh, thanks."

Sherlock nods and looks at everywhere John is sweating.

John feels terrible. He clears his throat to hopefully divert Sherlock. "So, where you going?"

Sherlock shrugs. "I don't know. Wherever they want, I guess."

John nods in understanding. "You look…great."

"Thanks," Sherlock says.

Greg honks the horn and John looks at them. "Guess they're waiting for you."

Sherlock nods. "Yeah, I'd better—"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"I'll, uh, see you later?"

"Yeah," John says. "See you later."

Sherlock gives a faint smile, then he leaves John to climb into the backseat of Greg's car.

John goes back to the yard work as the car drives away, and he's at least glad for that little bit of interaction with Sherlock. At least he's not being ignored anymore.

He finishes with the weeds and decides he's finished, so he goes back over to the lawn mower and starts it so he can drive it home. He gets it going, but as soon as he's about to leave, he hears a car tearing through the neighborhood.

In seconds, Greg's car is back, and Sherlock is jumping out of the car.

John's heart beats impossibly faster. Sherlock runs up the driveway to him.

John shuts the lawn mower off and stands, and when Sherlock gets to him, he pauses for a second.

"Sh—" John starts, but Sherlock cuts him off by grabbing his sweaty face between two perfect hands and pulling him into a long, deep kiss.

Behind them, the car of people cheer, but John hardly notices. His body sings with joy and his mind races with everything, every word unsaid and every time he's thought about this kiss and realized it's never going to happen. Everything flies out because it doesn't matter, this is what matters. Sherlock's lips on his, Sherlock's hands on his skin, Sherlock's tongue grazing his bottom lip and John has to hold tightly to the steering wheel of the lawn mower or else he'd probably grab Sherlock inappropriately in front of his friends.

Sherlock finally breaks away and presses his forehead against John's.

"Let's get this agreement straight a final time," he says, panting roughly in John's face. "Dates every night, no exceptions."

John smiles widely. "Even Saturdays?"

"Especially Saturdays."

"Good, because I don't plan on being separated from you for a second from now on."

"You act as if I'm going to let you go again."

John can't possibly smile any wider, but he tries. Sherlock wraps his long arms around John's neck and pulls him in for another kiss.

John doesn't let it go too far this time, remembering how disgusting he is from working in the sun all day.

"Sherlock, I'm all sweaty."

"I think it's sexy."

John laughs. "It's not sexy!"

Sherlock shuts him up by kissing him again.

_I can get used to this, _John thinks, letting himself be kissed by Sherlock.

* * *

_**A/N: Well, that's it! That's the end of the movie. I might add my own epilogue, but the actual film is over so I hope you enjoyed!**_


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